


Corruption

by MidnightCootie



Category: Don't Starve - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Gen, No Sex, Platonic Relationships, Violence, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3921448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightCootie/pseuds/MidnightCootie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson is dropped on a mysterious island and given an ultimatum: find Maxwell and have everything go back to normal, or die trying. Other survivors are found along the way, but there is more to this island than meets the eye. Strange, corrupted creatures roam the land, looking to stop them at every turn. Finding Maxwell may prove to be more difficult than anticipated.</p><p>Rated for some violence, blood, and death. No swearing or sexual content. Only platonic relationships among the survivors. However, there may be some vague CharliexMaxwell, but only for plot development purposes (no fluff). There may also be references to romances in a backstory or two (for example, Lucy and Woodie), but it's off-screen. A lot of in-game mechanics will be altered, broken, or omitted to suit my purposes. I'm imagining the world of Don't Starve to be in the same world we're in (a focus on realism), so some things have been changed around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Wilson slowly struggled back to consciousness. It was like wading through thick mud; his mind felt groggy and infuriatingly slow as if he had been given a heavy dose of anesthesia. His thoughts whirled and clashed haphazardly into each other, and he didn't dare open his eyes for fear of the dizziness manifesting itself and making him sick. Thus he laid there, trying to collect the scattered scraps of memory as to how he arrived in this woeful state.

The machine. That cursed machine the voice from the radio instructed him to build. At the time, the opportunity for access to such grand and forbidden knowledge was far too tantalizing for Wilson to pass up. Being a scientist struggling to make his way in the world, he greedily accepted all information given to him, abandoning the wisdom that had told him to avoid taking orders from a disembodied voice from an old radio.

The voice had been the first he had heard in quite a while. As shunned and secluded as he was out in that old cabin of his out in the woods, he never got visitors, and he rarely left the place. He only ventured out when lack of supplies drove him into the nearby town to collect more. The residents of this town thought him to be mad, and often went out of their way to avoid conversing with him. From time to time he did find himself craving the companionship of someone other than his skeleton model in the corner or the skittering lab animals, but he always quickly dismissed the loneliness in favor of furthering his scientific research. He buried himself in his work so to avoid being reminded of the tragedy that landed him in this lonely position.

So to hear the voice so suddenly that fateful night was quite the surprise. He could barely get a music signal to reach the decrepit radio on a good day, let alone hold a conversation with somebody through it. The voice that came through was decidedly male, and his every word seemed to ooze with the impression that whoever was speaking had a perpetual smirk frozen upon his face. Though the haughty manner of speech annoyed Wilson, he quickly learned to ignore it as the content of the words took precedence. The amazing amount of knowledge that was bestowed upon him over the next few days by the voice was almost more than he could absorb.

One tidbit of information he gathered was the voice's name: Maxwell. All the while a small entity in the back of his mind pleaded for Wilson to ignore Maxwell's seductively informational voice, but the lust for knowledge all but swept any qualms he had under the rug. He did everything in his power to make up excuses for continuing to listen to the sweet, whispering madness. He knew its name, for one. Putting a name to something unknown, by human nature, makes one more comfortable with the thing or idea at hand. It had willingly told him its name, so really it couldn't be all that dangerous… could it?

Maxwell, in return for the information bestowed upon Wilson, had requested—no, _demanded_ —that Wilson do something in return. He happily obliged, eager to get his hands working on some grand new project that was no doubt far less likely to fail than any of his own ludicrous ideas and experiments of late. With his newfound insight, looking back at his previous research made him scoff at his former ignorance.

Maxwell carefully instructed in on how to build a machine. For days Wilson worked under his command, following his every order and carefully constructing the device. He rarely took any breaks to care for his already malnourished body. His fervor combined with Maxwell's compelling promptings made him continue long past what he normally would have considered healthy. He usually did try to make a valiant effort to take care of himself, for he knew that if his body were to fail, his precious mind would be quick to follow. But as he built that cursed machine, all those matters were thrown out the window.

After days of work, the machine was nearly complete. It stood before him now, in all its rickety, metallic glory. It almost seemed to be smiling at him, making Wilson uneasy. For the first time in days, he really got a good look at his handiwork. Knobs, wheels, and levers jutted out at awkward places, the moving parts in anxious suspense for their grand finale. Maxwell's voice echoed through the dusty room once more.

"Good, good, my little puppet." A silly nickname he had given Wilson. He tried not to dwell on it too much.

"It is nearly complete. It's absolutely beautiful, no?" Maxwell gushed. Yet another thing that perplexed Wilson. Maxwell spoke as if he could see the contraption as well as he could, though he was merely a voice emanating from a simple radio. Wilson hypothesized he used some sort of spying device. Given the caliber of the inventions he had already described to Wilson the past couple of weeks, he wouldn't be surprised to find this to be true. A man of such knowledge wouldn't be held back by such a simple issue as not being in the room. For the time being it mattered not, however, and Wilson pushed this line of thinking into the back of his mind.

"Now, we need a living element to fuel the machine," the crackling radio continued. "A generous helping of fresh blood should do the trick." The menacing smirk was clearly heard in this morbid announcement.

Wilson slowly walked to his workbench, retrieving a fresh beaker and preparing a sharp knife. Again, that pesky consciousness of his pleaded for him to stop this madness.

Madness? He nearly laughed aloud at the idea. The townspeople would be much too delighted to confirm such suspicions. He had already been framed for a heinous crime he did not commit, but he only got off on the grounds of lack of evidence. They were constantly looking for excuses to peg him as a lunatic. He might as well let them believe such things, so later he could prove with further grandeur that he was a perfectly sane genius, one born in a world not yet ready for his superior intellect. It would be such a sweet victory to see their faces when they discovered him to be not a madman, but a leading figure into the world of tomorrow. Then perhaps both he and the townspeople could move on from the catastrophe that happened all those years ago. The thought made him grin. He would finally have peace.

His resolve firmed, he brought the knife to his hand and closed his fingers around it. Bracing himself, he quickly drew the knife from his grasp, wincing as the blood began to flow from his flayed palm into the hungry maw of the beaker below it. When Maxwell indicated an adequate amount was collected, Wilson hastily bandaged his throbbing hand, and ceremoniously filled the contraption's fuel tank with the warm blood.

Having officially completed the machine, Wilson stood back to admire his work. Though he didn't yet know the exact function of the device, he still prided himself in his ability to build such a magnificent thing using only verbal instructions.

"Excellent!" the grainy, static-marred voice agreed. "Now, there's only one thing left to do. Throw the switch!"

All the qualms Wilson had been harboring suddenly came bubbling back to the surface in full force as he reached for the lever. What _was_ this thing he had created? Who in their right mind would build such a thing under direction from someone they had never seen or met before? Especially someone with so much knowledge of otherworldly sciences, if half of what Wilson had learned could even be called science. Everything about this felt wrong, and his hand hovered reluctantly over the switch in agreement.

The radio violently cracked out an enraged "DO IT!" that made Wilson jump. The smooth, instructive voice Maxwell usually used on him was lost in favor of a fury and force that Wilson didn't know could be contained within a single human being.

Not wanting to risk evoking the full wrath of Maxwell, Wilson grasped the lever and slowly—so very carefully—moved it down, activating the machine. It rumbled and roared into life, the vague smile in the architecture he had noticed earlier cracking and morphing into an evil, malice-filled grin. Wilson's blood ran cold as he realized he had made a bad, bad decision. He tried to slowly back away from the terrifying, grinning face as Maxwell's horrid laughter filled the room, the voice no longer concentrated on the old radio.

Wilson noticed movement at his feet, and shrieked in surprise as his shadow came to life. Its shape morphed into that of two dark, clawed hands that peeled themselves off the floor, manifesting themselves as tangible twin horrors that snaked around him with sinister intent. Nothing in his experience offered any explanation to the entities he was seeing, and he defaulted to the age old fight or flight mechanism—in this case, immediate and frantic flight.

He lunged toward the door, deftly evading the hands that were clawing at his heels. He had a momentary glimmer of hope as he thought he had evaded the shadows, but upon his final lunge for freedom, cold, unearthly claws wrapped around his legs, and he began to fall.

Time seemed to stand still. All hope fled from his mind with a sickening lurch. He experienced what he assumed was his “life flashing before his eyes.” It was as if he was preemptively dying at that very moment, before the horrid shadows could finish him off themselves. He clawed the air frantically, trying to gain purchase on something—anything—that could save him from whatever terrible fate the darkness had in store for him.

But to no avail.

As he was enveloped by the shadows and yanked away from all life as he knew it, he thought he could hear Maxwell's voice again, laughing in sick triumph.

Everything went black.

  
  


So it was much to Wilson's astonishment that he seemed to be waking up now. Still too motion sick to open his eyes, Wilson relied on his other senses to determine his surroundings. What he gathered was nothing like the infernal pit of despair he had been expecting.

He felt grass beneath his prone form, making the exposed skin on his neck and hands itch. He heard birds squawking in the distance, and a warm breeze tugged at his unruly hair. The sun was shining down upon him, and even through his closed eyelids it made his eyes ache from the light that he was so unaccustomed to seeing after being cooped up in his cabin for so long.

A slight wooshing sound suddenly manifested itself near him, joined by a shadow being cast on his face.

"Say pal," a voice said. A horribly familiar voice. "You don't look so good." It took Wilson a moment to recognize the voice without all the crackling and static that normally had accompanied it when it came from the radio. Maxwell.

"You better find something to eat before night comes," he continued, the smirk in his voice all the more obvious without the radio's white noise. "We wouldn't want such an obedient puppet to go to waste after all that hard work would we?" A small chuckle, and the sound of rustling, starched fabric.

The voice was whispering in his ear now. "Find me, and all your questions will be answered." Then, somewhat wistfully, as if Maxwell wasn't quite talking directly to Wilson, "What has been lost shall be restored, and things will go back to the way they were. A wish shall be granted, as it were. Good luck." Another small woosh and the blinding sunlight returned to sear his closed eyes, and the dark presence he felt was gone.

Wilson took a few more minutes to get his head to stop spinning adequately enough for him to attempt to open his eyes. Slowly, he was able to sit up, clutching his aching head. He blearily saw a small meadow surrounding him. Birds flew about, tall grass swayed in the breeze, and rabbits went about their business searching for small morsels of food to eat.

At the thought of food, Wilson's stomach gave a hefty growl. It brought back the awareness that he couldn't remember the last time he had even eaten. He cursed both himself and Maxwell for putting him in such a position.

Maxwell must have somehow drugged him and spirited him away somewhere, unceremoniously dumping him in this field. Surely it must have been some kind of poison, otherwise he wouldn't have seen those shadowy hallucinations… there was no other logical explanation, other than perhaps lack of sleep and sustenance. But the former was far more likely, considering his current location. This, by far, had to be the worst prank anyone had ever played on him.

_All I have to do now is find civilization and catch a train back home,_ he thought as he stood up. _The wilderness is no place for an inventor, and a gentleman no less!_

Thus, Wilson began to walk.

 

 


	2. Death Awaits

 

Wilson wandered for quite some time, and to his annoyance, he didn't really get anywhere.

The landscape was infuriatingly flat. Occasionally it was cut by a river meandering through his path, but there were no hills or mountains to be seen. A couple of times he was met by a large expanse of ocean, and he had to turn and head a different direction. He suspected that he may be on a peninsula, or worse yet… an island. With no landmarks to be found, he could be wandering in circles for all he knew.

"No," he thought aloud. "The sun rises in the east. It has been steadily climbing since I woke up, so I have been heading west for the past couple hours." Speaking his thoughts was a common habit of his, especially when he was nervous. It helped solidify his thought process. With as scatterbrained as he was today, it really helped soothe his nerves to hear a voice, even if it was just his own.

Wilson tried to keep to a fairly straight line of travel now, unless something grabbed his attention. He always went hoping it would be some indication that civilization was near, but it usually ended up being something aggravatingly anticlimactic. A gap in the trees that turned out to be a simple meadow or pond, a conglomeration of bee hives, or the like. No sign of any people.

By the time the sun was at its highest, Wilson was exhausted. Between the stress, heat, and hunger, he ruled that now would be an excellent time to take a much-needed break. He still had no inkling as to where on earth he was, but he had more pressing matters at hand.

He selected a large fallen tree in a patch of shade to sit upon. He breathed out heavily, trying to make himself relax since there was no immediate danger. The stress he was suffering was no doubt tiring him out more than was necessary. He was merely lost in the woods somewhere. Someone would come looking for him eventually.

Then again… perhaps not. No one ever came to visit him. Nobody wanted to interact with a supposed murderer. The only time he ever saw anybody was on his weekly trip into town. If his memory was correct, tomorrow would be his usual day he would go, but would anybody notice his absence? Even worse… would anybody even care if they did? Everyone hated him for what they thought he had done. He knew he was innocent, but it was his word against many, and he had to live every day of his life with that fact.

Wilson felt a wave of loneliness. He had isolated himself so much, he didn't have a soul in the world to call a friend. His own family had disowned him on account of his obsessive scientific endeavors. He was a pariah, an outcast. Every day he worked so diligently on his experiments, hoping that one day he would create something that would gain him the attention and appreciation that he so desperately craved. Then he wouldn't just be the mad scientist that lived on the outskirts of town, he would be the brilliant inventor that everybody knows and loves. Perhaps he could even make a friend. At the very least, he could gain the companionship of a wide-eyed assistant or apprentice.

A deep growling noise echoed through the area, tearing Wilson from his reverie. He jumped so hard he slid backward off the large log. He scrambled to keep himself upright, only succeeding in clutching the bark enough with his hands to keep from falling flat on his back. The side effect of this save was that his legs were now jutting straight into the air on either side of him, held up by the cursed tree, while his bottom rested on the moss-covered ground.

He let out an exasperated sigh and rested his chin on the log, not bothering to right his ridiculous position. He just got scared silly by his own stomach growling. He may as well accept this humiliating outcome.

His stomach growled again, and Wilson sighed heavily once more, releasing his grip and laying back on the ground with his legs still propped up on the log. He gazed at the sky and considered his options for food. He could continue walking and hope he found civilization before he collapsed from hunger exhaustion, but in the high chances that he didn't, he would have to find something else.

Wilson pondered. He had seen some rabbits about and supposed he could try to catch and kill one of them, but it was probably a harder task than he had time or energy for. He did notice a few berry bushes along the way too, but many were only sparsely populated with berries. At least he would be able to sit while he gathered the berries off the bush though, and he didn't see any other options at the moment.

He hefted himself off the ground, brushing loose moss and leaf litter off his waistcoat and pants. He backtracked a little way until he found one of the bushes he had passed earlier. He plopped down beside it and began to strip the plant of its fruits, his stomach growling in approval. Most tasted very sweet, but the less ripe ones were bordering on sour and caused his cheeks and tongue to ache from the flavor. Nonetheless, he was grateful to finally have something to have something to satisfy his hunger with.

Suddenly, he stopped eating, a plump berry held before his mouth. Wilson's blood turned to ice as a realization dawned on him.

He hadn't stopped to consider if the berries might be poisonous.

He was so driven by hunger and distracted by his predicament that he could have just eaten a load of death fruits and not even realized it!

Wilson dropped the berry that was in his hand and looked down at his belly in horror. What kind of potential disaster was brewing down there?

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to relax. Sure, he had made a potentially deadly mistake, but it would be foolish to panic before the situation was properly examined.

The berries for red. Plenty of berries were red, some poisonous, and others not. So their color didn't give him any good clues.

"The white berries are almost always toxic, so at least I didn't eat anything like that," he muttered to himself. He knew just enough about berries to assure himself of that.

The berries were round and shiny… perhaps they were something like a cranberry or a hawthorn berry? He couldn't be sure… the safety of red berries was too much of a toss-up.

"The leaves aren't in clusters of three, so that's a good sign,” he continued to mutter. “The bush also lacks any thorns or hairs, so to the extent of my knowledge, the signs point to these berries being safe. Just to be sure, I will abstain from eating any more for now and see if I get a reaction from what I've already eaten." He nodded in approval to his plan. Explaining things out loud definitely helped him think more rationally. He leaned up against a tree and made himself comfortable.

Wilson eventually got bored of sitting and awaiting his potential doom, so he elected to continue his walk. He went at a more leisurely, ponderous pace, taking in the hidden beauty of the world around him. If he only had a little while longer to live, he may as well appreciate what he might be leaving behind. He spotted a few flowers in the grass, and plucked a couple, making a small bouquet. Such a peaceful, normal thing seemed almost silly in the face of what might be coming, but it eased his nerves regardless. He even found himself smiling a little at the tiny flowers when he breathed in their calming scent.

Perhaps the wilderness wasn't all that bad. If he ever got home, he'd have to make sure he went on a few nature walks sometime. He located a long stick that he began to use as a sort of walking cane. That's what hikers did, right? He would have to find some books on the subject to check when he got back. Even if the stick didn't really help him move faster, he still found it enjoyable to have. Almost childlike joy filled him as he discovered how fun it was to poke things with his stick: fleshy mushrooms, murky ponds, rotten logs, and more. He was glad nobody was round to see him laugh like a little schoolboy when he whacked a puffball mushroom and it blew out a cloud of spores.

Several hours passed with little commotion from his body—aside from the continued hungry yowling of his stomach—and Wilson came to the conclusion that the berries probably weren't going to kill him. Besides, by now he was hungry enough to eat a handful of belladonna on purpose just to fill his stomach. He quickly located another berry bush and practically inhaled the berries as he picked them. He continued this for another few bushes until his hunger was satisfied, and his arms ached from repeatedly reaching for berries.

Now the sun was beginning to set, which displeased Wilson greatly. He didn't want to be trapped in the woods at night! He also knew that sleep was probably out of the question, his mind was too active and panicked for such a thing. Any sleep that he could get would more than likely come laden with nightmares and discomfort. No, he needed to burn off this nervous energy.

He would walk through the night.

"The light from the moon and stars should provide adequate light in the more open areas," he theorized. "However, the shade of the trees would make it much too dark to travel safely…" As a precaution, Wilson gathered some dry grass and carefully tied a bundle of it to the end of his walking stick to serve as an emergency torch. He searched around for a piece of flint that could be struck against his small steel penknife to create a spark.

Wilson stopped and considered the little knife. It was an old thing, something his father had given him when he was a child, who in turn had received it from his father when he was young. It was very simple, merely a small, folding knife that wasn't very useful for much more than opening a letter. Regardless, it still had its small uses, and Wilson enjoyed the comforting weight of it in his pocket.

After a bit of searching and testing, Wilson was successfully able to find an adequate piece of flint for sparking. He pocketed the flint with his penknife, and continued on his journey. He hoped his makeshift torch would be enough to stave off the root-concealing darkness when he had to wander into the darker parts of the forest. The last thing he needed was to trip and break a leg.

Night fell all too soon, but luckily—as predicted—the light from the moon supplied just enough light for slow, calculated travel. An hour or so passed, and Wilson was fortunate enough to be able to keep to open areas, avoiding the inky blackness of the trees. A problem was arising, however. Clouds had begun to gather, diminishing the light from the stars. Wilson tried to remain calm. It still was light enough not to fall into any rabbit holes, so he held back from lighting the torch, for fear of its short lifespan.

As he was lost in thought, darkness slowly overcame him. The moon had been blotted out by a cloud, and Wilson could no longer see. He stopped walking.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he stood tensely, waiting for the light to return. The sound of his wildly beating heart filled his ears.

He heard a noise.

"What was that?" he whispered frantically, turning around. It sounded like something had moved beside him. He strained his eyes, willing them to pierce the darkness so he could locate the source of the ominous sound.

The noise came again. Only this time louder, and from all around him. The noise was a distorted, far off moan, not unlike the sound of strong wind outside a window. The noise continued to grow in intensity, until it was terrifying growl.

Wilson swung his stick around, trying to hit away whatever was stalking him. Instead, he was struck by a mighty blow that that sent him reeling. He stumbled back a few feet, doing everything in his power to remain standing, flailing his stick where he assumed the thing must have been to be able to hit him so solidly, but swinging only through empty air. The noise grew loud again, and another hit from behind threw him to his hands and knees, his mind whirling with terror and helplessness.

There was nowhere to run. He couldn't have done so if he tried, he'd probably end up falling in a rabbit hole and snapping his leg in half, then he'd really be in trouble. There was nothing he could do! He couldn't even seem to touch the beast! He—

The moon's light peeked out from behind the cloud, and the moaning of the monster vanished with an angry hiss. With the newfound light, Wilson quickly stood and spun about, trying to locate his aggressor. Unless it was supernaturally fast and could sprint all the way to the cover of the trees in such a short amount of time, it should still be somewhere around him…

But it wasn't. There was absolutely nothing in the field that he could see, especially not anything that was big enough that could hit him so hard. Perhaps those berries really were poisonous and contained some hallucinogenic toxins… his head _had_ been hurting slightly since nightfall… it... it must have been his imagination. His silly imagination making him believe there were monsters in the dark, of all things. He shook his head and laughed weakly.

Once he assured himself that it was all in his mind, Wilson collected his jangled nerves and warily continued walking, keeping a close eye out for any other symptoms of poisoning or imaginary adversaries.

Minutes passed uneventfully. Wilson was just beginning to relax when the shadow of a cloud fell over him once more, plunging him into darkness. Immediately he dropped into a defensive position, holding his wimpy staff in front of him and drawing out his tiny penknife, all rational thought of hallucinations and imagination evaporating as quickly as the light had.

The windy moaning began once more.

"Begone, creature!" he shouted at it. No sooner had the words escaped his lips, than the same intangible force rammed into him again. His penknife went flying from his hand, and pain exploded in his chest. He fell to the ground, gasping for the air that had flown from his lungs.

_This thing only attacks in complete darkness,_ he thought hazily as he wheezed. _Perhaps… I could shed some light on the situation._

He rolled into a position where he could reach into his pocket and retrieve the flint. It was then that he realized his knife wasn't in his hand.

The moaning was growing louder again, signaling another attack. He crawled on his hands and knees, sweeping the ground frantically trying to feel for the knife.

It was nowhere to be found.

The force struck him once more, and almost immediately after the moonlight reappeared. Wilson laid there, gasping for air. He coughed and wheezed, and he tasted blood. He feared that he may be from a cracked rib, and he was terrified to think of any internal bleeding it may be causing. Definitely not the way he wanted to go.

As he lay writhing and struggling for breath, he caught the telltale glint of metal in the corner of his eye. His heart leapt, and he reached a shaky hand over to grab it. He slowly recovered enough to sit up on his knees, and prepared the flint and knife over the makeshift torch. He struck the flint and steel together, causing a few sparks.

He struck them together again and again, watching the grass begin to smoke slightly. The moonlight began to fade behind a cloud once more. He grew desperate, striking the items together with increasing frequency as the light left the world.

He was nearly crying from terror, pain, and raw panic by the time the low growling materialized. It grew louder, stronger, and more aggressive than ever before until it was a veritable roar. Tears streamed down his face.

He screamed a desperate, "Please!" at the flint as the soaring moan rushed down upon him.

For the second time in less than a day, Wilson got a taste of his own mortality. Only this time it hurt.

The invisible adversary struck him again at the same time he struck the flint and steel for the last time. The dry grass caught light, and a bright fire exploded into life with a _whoosh._

Wilson gagged in pain from the most recent hit from the night monster, but he owed his life to the fire beside him for chasing away the beast before it finished him off.

He clutched his aching chest that heaved and twitched as he tried to hold back his terrified, agonized sobbing. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He lowered himself to the ground and curled up next to the steadily burning flame. He shivered, but not from the cold. He was in shock. Exhaustion overcame him. Multiple layers of tiredness collapsed upon his frail body. Lack of sleep, overworking, stress, terror, pain, and physical exertion. They were all too much for him to bear.

Wilson closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

 

 


	3. You Friend!

 

Something pulled his hair.

Wilson groaned and tried to roll over. When his ribs protested loudly with shots of pain, he stopped and gasped shallowly. He tried to remember what had happened.

The night monster. That horrid entity that had left him in this sorry state. Wilson opened his bleary eyes, the light from the morning sun burning his eyes and making his headache worse. The charred remains of his impromptu torch lay beside him. He didn't know how long it burned, but apparently it had been long enough to keep him safe from the night beast until morning.

Something pulled his hair again. Irritated, Wilson ignored the twinges of pain and turned over to prop himself up on his elbow. He discovered the culprit of the harassment to be a fat rabbit. It sat there, still as a stone other than its twitching nose, its big sappy eyes watching him carefully. The cursed thing had tried to burrow into his hair! Wilson made a scary face and lunged toward it with a growl, and the rabbit raced away, squealing. Satisfied, Wilson slowly sat up. His ribs sure weren't too happy about the abuse they had been put through.

_I had better check to ensure no serious damage has been done..._ thought Wilson as he began to unbutton his waistcoat and dress shirt. He slid them off, then lifted his black shirt to get a better look at the damage.

The left side of his ribs blossomed with a fantastic bruise. If it wasn't such an inconvenience, he would almost say it was pretty. Black and blue with slight hues of red, yellow, and green was painted along his side. Truly a masterpiece as far as hematomas go. Carefully, he ran his fingers along each rib looking for a fracture. He scolded himself for how scrawny he had become. Each rib stuck out much more plainly than it should have. On the one hand, it made it easy for him to investigate each bone individually, but on the other it indicated acute malnutrition that definitely would make surviving in the wilderness difficult. Thankfully, none of the ribs seemed to be broken. There might be a hairline fracture or two if the soreness was any indication, but at least all the bones were in one piece.

He tucked his shirt in again and replaced his dress shirt and waistcoat. He felt a bit more confident knowing he wasn't internally bleeding due to a rib sticking into his lungs. Sure felt like it when he breathed deeply though. If anything, the raw spot on his cheek where he must have accidentally bitten it last night was more worrisome. Ignoring the pain for now, he stood to get a better look at his surroundings.

Wilson was still in the middle of a field, though it looked much different in the sunlight. He located the flint and penknife on the ground and stashed them away in his pockets. He surveyed the area, working on deciding which way to travel from here.

To his astonishment, he spotted a path. Not just any old animal trail, but a legitimate brick pathway! He was closer to civilization than he thought! He briefly remembered Maxwell's advice to find him in order to get out of here. Wilson wanted to laugh at the insane man's face, he had just found the presence of _people,_ all on his own! He didn't need his kidnapper to get him home.

With renewed vigor, Wilson briskly walked over to the path and began to follow it. It was a delight to not have to watch his every step for trip hazards and holes hidden among the grass and plant debris. The smooth brick was truly a joy to stroll upon! Though arbitrarily winding, the path looked well maintained and was very likely to be inhabited.

As Wilson was walking, contently not watching his footfalls, he struck something with his toe. Looking down in mild surprise, he discovered the offending object to be an old garden gnome. He picked it up and brushed the dirt off it. Its charmingly chubby face gazed up at him, and he could help but smile. He decided to keep it, perhaps as a souvenir from one of the craziest experiences of his life. One doesn't get kidnapped and dumped in the wilderness every day! If he ever made a garden, he could put the gnome there.

He held up the gnome into the light and looked closer at it. He supposed it could use a name, if it were coming home with him.

"I shall dub thee… Sir Gned Gladstone," he declared to the gnome, nodding proudly to himself for the clever name. He tucked Gned under his arm and continued on his way.

Wilson traveled along the path for half an hour or so, until he noticed some ramshackle houses in the distance. His heart leapt for joy and he increased his pace, despite his ribs complaining about the heavier breathing. His bruise could wait—he had found civilization! He strolled into town, smiling widely and trying to look as friendly and approachable as possible.

The houses seemed to be placed haphazardly… perhaps it was just a handmade vacation spot? There was nobody to be seen, so either everybody was inside or not inhabiting the houses at the moment. Wilson's smile faded.

He continued deeper into the little town. A few times he thought he spied some movement behind the houses, but upon investigation he never found anything. Perhaps his headache was making him see things. He wouldn't be too surprised if he had a concussion from the recent events. He also wasn't entirely sure if he could rule out the possibility that the berries were hallucinogenic, and he was still suffering the aftereffects. Either way, he wasn't too pleased with his eyes playing tricks on him. A mind of his caliber should be above such petty things.

He spied a more open area up ahead, and warily approached it. He turned the corner of a house, he came face to face with a man-sized pig. Wilson yelped in surprise and stumbled backward, nearly falling and dropping Gned. The pig responded in kind, squealing and running away toward a group of more pigmen.

Wilson had never seen anything like it. They were bipedal, human-esque pigs, wearing little grass skirts. He so desperately wanted to believe they were simply people in costume, but they genuinely looked and acted like actual, living anthropomorphized pigs. They weren't attacking him though… so perhaps… perhaps they were friendly?

Wilson straightened his waistcoat and cleared his throat. He approached the cowering group of pig men like a proper gentleman. "Greetings!" he said cheerfully, giving a charming smile and a small bow. "My name is Higgsbury. Wilson Higgsbury."

The pigs erupted into squeals of garbled words that sounded like "Too close!" "Go away!" "You back off!" and other exclamations of terror, running around to the other side of a house.

Offended, Wilson mumbled, "What am I, the big bad wolf?" and followed the pigmen.

As he rounded the next corner, he was met with an even more astonishing sight. There were pigmen everywhere, and right in front of him resting on a wooden platform was the biggest hunk of swine he had ever seen in his life. Wilson froze, his mouth agape.

The beast towered over Wilson, looking down at him with vague interest. No, not quite at _him…_ but what he was holding.

Wilson looked slowly down at Gned, then back up at the pig. He noticed that the beast was wearing some kind of crown, with bejeweled antlers coming out of it. He supposed this meant that he was the king of these pigmen. Wilson held up Gned a little bit, and the king's droopy eyes followed. He moved it side to side, and still they followed.

Wilson narrowed his eyes and held out Gned to the pig king cautiously. Though the little gnome was indeed amusing, he supposed he didn't really need it. He didn't have a garden for him to stand in anyway, and going by his track record of killing every plant he ever owned, it was likely that there never would be a garden. Perhaps he didn't want to keep a souvenir to remind him of such a terrifyingly strange place anyway.

The giant pig slowly hefted its flabby arm over to him. Wilson stood completely still, Gned balancing on his outstretched hand. The king unceremoniously grabbed Gned from him, and brought it up to its face. It investigated Wilson's gift momentarily, then gave a squeal of delight that nearly caused Wilson to leap out of his shoes.

The king centered its eyes on him again, then reached under one of its copious fat rolls and retrieved something. It held it out to Wilson, who warily put his cupped hands underneath to accept whatever the pig had for him. Dropped into his hands were a few hefty chunks of what seemed to be… gold!

_This will definitely will be useful back home!_ Wilson thought happily. _I could buy a lot of better equipment with this!_ He smiled at the pig king and pocketed his prize.

"Thank you very much, good sir! I appreciate your business!" he exclaimed, but the king had already moved on to other things, and no longer seemed to be interested in Wilson.

He frowned, and was about to say something to the indifferent pig king, when he heard a scream in the distance.

_That definitely wasn't a pig's squeal!_ Wilson thought in astonishment as he swung his head in the direction of the sound. He waved a hasty goodbye at the oblivious pig king, and began to jog toward the noise. It sounded like a girl in distress, and it was his duty as a gentleman to protect her!

By the time he got there, his chest injury was aching from the exertion, and he had to bend over to relieve some of the pain. Pigmen were running all around, squealing and running into each other from terror. In the midst of the madness was a young girl brandishing a spear and growling fiercely at the pigs. Splatters of blood littered the area, and he noticed not all the pigs were escaping unharmed. In a few moments, the pigs cleared the area, and realized his mouth was hanging open again. He closed it with a snap.

The girl didn't seem to notice him. She merely slowly stepped over to a flower, sat down next to it, and began fixing her two blonde ponytails. Wilson slowly approached, so as not to startle her.

"He…hello there," he said nervously. He didn't really know how to talk to kids. "Uh… what's your name?"

"Wendy," she replied simply, not looking at him.

He cleared his throat. "I'm Wilson. Uh… how old are you?"

"Ten." Again, short and to the point. She was focused too much on wiping the pig blood off her spear onto the grass to bother looking up at Wilson.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked.

"I'm stuck here." She redirected her attention to the spear's holdings, ensuring the rope holding the sharp rock on the end was still sturdy.

Wilson felt his brow furrow. "Are you lost?"

"No," Wendy replied, as if she hadn't a care in the world. "Just stuck here."

Now Wilson was really confused. Was this just a game the child was playing? Or was there something more nefarious at hand?

"Did… did you meet a man named Maxwell?" he inquired slowly, fearing the worst.

Now she looked at him, her unnerving big, intelligent eyes narrowing in suspicion. "How do you know uncle Maxy?"

Her _uncle_ Maxwell? Was she in on all this? What kind of horrible person would get his young niece involved in a kidnapping? The kid was _ten_ for heaven's sake!

"He… brought me here," Wilson replied warily. "Do you know where we are? Do you know where to find other people?"

"He brought us here too. But we haven't seen any other people. He told us he could take us somewhere fun, but this place isn't as good as we expected it to be. You're the first person we've found, and there doesn't seem to be a way out."

"Wait, _we?_ "

"Me and Abigail." She looked at the flower on the ground next to her.

"Who's Abigail? Your flower?"

"No, she's my twin sister."

"Where is she now?"

Wendy stabbed her spear into the ground. "The pigmen got her."

Wilson couldn't believe his ears. It was almost too much to take in. Her own uncle spirited away his two nieces, dropping them off in the middle of nowhere with no adults to watch after them. Wilson had assumed the pigmen were friendly, but from what he had gathered on the situation, they must have killed Abigail. Even worse, due to the lack of a body, they likely carried her away and ate her.

Maxwell was far worse than he had ever imagined. Wilson could almost accept that he had been kidnapped, but his predicament paled in comparison to poor Wendy's. He was merely a lonely man that nobody cared about. But two little girls! Wilson was nearly sick with disgust. He was sure this wasn't a cruel joke anymore.

Something changed inside Wilson at that moment. He never really had the urge to care for someone as much as he wanted to protect Wendy now. A child should never be forced to endure such travesty.

"Would you like to come with me Wendy? I could help you get home," he said gently, reaching out a hand to help her up.

Wendy nodded slowly. She picked up the flower on the ground with one hand, and took Wilson's hand with the other. He helped her stand up. She simply stood there, gently stroking the petals of the closed up pale pink flower.

"That's a pretty flower," Wilson offered, still feeling awkward about speaking to a child. "Where did you find it?"

"It's Abby's flower, like mine." She pointed to the flower in her hair. "She wears it over the hole in her head, and I thought it was pretty, so I got a flower to wear too."

Now Wilson was confused. She was talking about Abigail in the present tense, as if she were still here. Somewhat understandable… it could be a coping mechanism for just seeing her sister murdered and eaten by pigs. His own methods of dealing with the loss of a loved one bordered along the same lines. He was rather astounded she wasn't completely distraught by her loss.

"The hole in her head?" he wondered out loud.

"Yes. From when she slipped and fell on a rock by the river near our house. That's when she died."

"I thought you said the pigmen got her?"

"They did."

Wilson's headache was getting worse. Figuring by now it was just some game to confuse him, the decided to go along with Wendy's little game.

"So she came back to life?"

"No, not exactly. She's a ghost now."

Wilson's blood ran cold. He wasn't a superstitious man, but the eerie, definite tone of Wendy's voice set him on edge.

"G—ghost?"

"Yeah. I could tell you the rest of the story, but you'll just get mad at me like all the other adults and sent me to the man that asks a lot of questions." She made a stubborn pouty face and turned away from him, folding her arms.

Wilson did an inward sigh and rolled his eyes upward. She won't be the only one who will be needing a therapist after this _adventure_. Still, he couldn't help but be curious of this hidden story of hers.

Wilson put a hand on her shoulder. "I won't do that, I promise." He didn't have the authority to anyway, that would be her parent's job.

She turned around and glared at him again with those creepy eyes of hers. The shocking blue seemed to stab right into him, with wisdom far beyond her years. Wilson smiled nervously, raising his hands in a classic 'I surrender!' gesture that seemed to satisfy her.

Wendy took a deep breath. "Well, after Abigail died I still went back to the river to remember her. At the same spot where all the blood was a flower grew." She held up the flower for emphasis. "I took very good care of it, because it was pretty like Abby was. I liked to pretend it was her and talk to it. One day I went to go visit the flower, but it was gone. I started to cry, thinking it was gone forever.

"But then I heard a little noise behind me, and turned around to find Abigail there! She was wearing the flower on the side of her head in the same spot where she hit it and got all bloody. As long as the flower is there, you don't have to see the wound. I liked it, so I found another flower just like it and wear one just like Abby.

"So just like that, we became best friends again. She can't really talk like normal people anymore, but I can understand her. Because she's my sister. But then all the grown-ups got worried about me because I wouldn't go play with the kids at school anymore. I had Abby to play with again, so I didn't need to. My parents didn't believe me though, so I had to go talk to the question man a lot. He tried to tell me Abigail isn't around anymore, and that I needed to move on and make friends and stuff. But I really just like playing with Abby."

Wilson was quite taken aback. So far, Wendy had been very short and concise with her speech, but she seemed to be quite the storyteller for her age.

"So, how did you get here?" he asked.

"Like I said, uncle Maxy brought us. He was gone for a long time. He did magic tricks with the pretty lady Charlie when I was little. His name isn't actually Maxwell, that's just what he wanted everybody to call him for his show. I think his real name is William Carter or something, but I can't quite remember. I've always just called him Maxy, which he liked a lot. But then one day Maxy and Charlie disappeared. It made my family pretty upset, but me and Abby didn't really understand at the time." She shrugged. Wilson tucked away the information about Maxwell's true name into his memory. Perhaps that would turn out to be useful.

"So it was pretty neat when he appeared again," Wendy continued. "I was just playing with Abby by the river when he found us. He kind of scared me though. I remember before he use to have these big goofy glasses and he was always very happy. But this time he didn't have glasses and he looked kind of angry and tired. Not like he was mad at us, but that the anger from somewhere else got stuck on his face somehow.

"Anyway, he told us he could take us somewhere fun. He even talked right to Abigail, which is something no one had ever been able to do before, so it was really exciting. We decided to go with him. I took his hand, and I don't really remember much after that. Just… waking up here with nothing but Abigail's flower in my hand. It took her a few days to find me. We survived together for a while. Abby keeps me safe. But now she's gone again, and I must wait for her return." She nodded with sober determination.

Wilson wasn't quite sure how to take to this. A lot of it seemed far-fetched, even magical, and much of it was likely spawned from the imagination of a traumatized child. One thing was for sure, Maxwell was behind it all, and he had to be stopped.

_Find me, and things will go back to the way they once were._ Maxwell's words echoed in Wilson's mind. Perhaps that was the answer. Maybe, just maybe—even though it appalled him to even consider it—there _was_ something magical or supernatural happening here. Though he still recognized it was horrifically far-fetched, Maxwell might really did have the power to reverse all this tragedy. If he did, Wilson couldn’t help but wonder just how far back he could reset things… if the power extended across years, then maybe he could get _her_ back. Perhaps Wilson's hallucinations of the shadows that pulled him into the floor of his workshop were real. The unseen monster in the dark was definitely real, if his aching ribs was any indication. Maybe Wendy's stories were real too. Still, it was far too soon to assume something as unlikely as magic was involved.

Wilson was a better scientist than that.

 

 


	4. Bereaved

 

"We're just going to explore to see if we can find people so we can go home," Wilson tried to explain to Wendy once again. He was growing rather impatient with the girl.

"But there's no one else here, unless you count the dead," Wendy retorted, getting her stubborn pouty face going once again.

"It's our only way getting out of here!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide to indicate their location.

"No, we have to find uncle Maxy. He can take us back. He said so."

"I'm sorry to say this Wendy, but your uncle is a madman. He dropped us in the middle of nowhere. Left us to die!" Wilson threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

"He's the only way out of here. Unless you're ready to pay Charon's fare, that is."

"Can't we just walk? We just need to discover the right direction and—"

"No. We're stuck here. "

Wilson was about ready to start pulling out his hair. "Fine. I'll humor you. Why?"

"Because it's an island," she replied simply, shrugging.

Wilson had suspected that much, but hearing it from another person made it seem so much more bitterly real. His heart plunged to his toes, leaving him feeling cold and numb. He still wanted to refuse to believe they were stranded on some forgotten island. Especially if it were an island remote enough that it could evolve an entire race of sentient pigs and invisible night monsters! Surely such a discovery would be a big deal if people knew about it, and since he had never heard of such a thing, he theorized this island must be completely unknown. In which chase, they would never be rescued.

"So what do you propose we do then?" he asked, his voice cold.

"Go back go camp," Wendy replied, ignoring his malice.

"You have a camp?" Wilson said, surprised.

"Well, duh. How do you suppose I've survived the inevitable for so long?" She put her hands on her hips.

It irritated him greatly that this little girl was showing him up. Was she really only ten? Her vocabulary definitely didn't fit that of what he thought kids her age normally had. She was too smart for comfort. Creepy even.

He let out an exasperated sigh and slumped his shoulders in defeat. "Fine. Lead the way."

Wendy pointed to the northeast. "It's in that direction." She picked up her spear, carefully put her flower into her pocket, and began to walk.

Wilson followed, lost in thought. A grumpy frown adorned his face. If his theory of this being a hidden island proved to be true, then what could he do to escape? Simply building a raft to try and sail away would likely be suicide, he had no clue how far out in the ocean he could be. More likely he would die of hunger, thirst, or some other horribly uncomfortable means long before he reached land again. What other kinds of horrific creatures might lie in wait on this island though? If there was anything else like the night monster, he and Wendy would likely be torn to pieces before they could ever get the chance to be rescued. How on earth were they supposed to survive?

Wilson was so lost in his own mind that it took him a long while to notice that Wendy was no longer in front of him. He snapped his thoughts back to the present and frantically looked around. He hadn't had a charge for more than twenty minutes and already he had lost her! She had probably been eaten by some nefarious grass monster, or swept away by some giant bird, or—

\--Was walking a few meters behind him. She appeared to be using the spear as a walking stick, limping badly on her right leg. Alarm bells went off in Wilson's head. He had completely spaced checking to make sure she hadn't been injured during her fight with the pigmen! Good gracious, he sure wasn't cutout for this babysitting thing.

"Hey, are you alright?" he called out, rushing over to her.

"I'm fine," she replied grumpily, not looking at him and continuing to limp along.

"Really, your leg looks hurt. Let me take a look at it."

"No."

"At least sit down and take a break!"

She turned and looked at him, glaring once more, and sat roughly on the ground. He warily sat next to her, placing himself closest to her injured leg so he could take a closer look at it without her noticing.

She noticed.

"Stop looking at me!" she cried, dropping her spear and rapid-fire slapping him in the arm with both hands, forcing him to scoot away to avoid getting injured himself.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay!" he exclaimed, leaning away from her attacks and holding up his arms in defense until she was satisfied with his distance from her. She turned away from him with a huff, now hugging her spear to her chest..

Wilson thought for a moment, then stood up. They would never get to camp before nightfall at this rate, and it offended him as a gentleman to make a lady, even if was a young, grumpy one, walk on a hurt leg like that. An idea had formed.

He casually walked behind her. Paused. Then quickly scooped her up in his arms and began walking. Wendy was frozen by surprise for a moment before she started to fight back.

She knocked him in the side of the head with her spear. Whether it was on purpose or an accident he wasn't quite sure, but it definitely didn't help his growing headache either way. His arms were quickly weakened under her struggles and protests, and he nearly dropped her when she elbowed his injured ribs, knocking the air out of him.

He was able to ungracefully fall to his knees and set her down before he curled in on himself, clutching his ribs and making awful wheezing noises. Just one hour! He thought viciously as he writhed. Just one hour needs to go by without my stupid ribcage committing mutiny! Wendy scrambled a few feet away from him and looked back.

"Serves you right!" she cried. "You don't sneak up on people like that!"

"I just… wanted to… speed up our progress!" he muttered between gasps.

"Well, a fine job you've done. We're not moving at all now!"

"If you would just let me carry you…!" he grumbled.

"If you'd just ask first, you idiot," she snapped back, crossing her arms.

"I didn't think you would agree to it!"

"So you just did it anyway?"

Wilson groaned heavily. He was losing another argument with a ten year old.

"Fine, fine." He took a deep, shaking breath, finally able to breathe relatively normally by now. He sat up as straight as his throbbing side would allow. "Miss Wendy, may I have the pleasure of giving you a ride to your campsite?" He forced the most gentlemanly tone he could muster at the moment.

Wendy stood and gave a small, sarcastic curtsey. "You may."

Wilson got into a position where she could easily climb up his back. She hopped on, sitting on his shoulders and wrapping her little arms around his head.

"Watch out for that spear!" he cautioned as it swept by his temple. She kicked him lightly in the rib. The sore one. Wilson cursed silently, rolling his eyes at the annoying child, and began walking toward the camp. Maybe there he could get some rest for his pounding head.

���

They arrived by late afternoon. He let Wendy down and rubbed his sore shoulders as she explored the camp, making sure everything was still there, eventually sitting down, satisfied. It wasn't much, but it was definitely more than his meager gold lumps and penknife.

A circle of stones indicated a fire pit, and a mat of grass lay beside it, along with a stump for sitting and a couple sticks for roasting food.

At the thought, Wilson's stomach rumbled, and Wendy's replied in kind, causing Wilson to smile in amusement and Wendy to frown in embarrassment.

"Know where we can get any food around here?" he asked.

"Sure I do," she replied snidely, obviously still miffed with her new companion. "I've got traps around, and by now they should have something in them to kill for dinner."

"Where are they?"

"I'll show you," she said, standing up again.

"No, no, no, you need to rest that leg. Just point me in the direction of the nearest ones, and I'll go get them."

She glared daggers at him. "That way," she pointed. "By the tree with no bark. Then that way," a bit to the left, "on the edge of the little stream."

Wilson nodded, and headed off in the first direction indicated. He walked until he found the first trap. It seemed to have caught something, but the woven side of it had been torn apart, and whatever was once in it was long gone by now. He picked it up to bring it back to camp for repairs.

The second trap proved to be more fruitful. Peeking through a small hole in the weaving, he discovered a strange horned rabbit trapped inside. It was then that he got nervous. He would have to kill it in order to bring it back. All he had was a couple pieces of gold, some flint and… his penknife.

Wilson slowly unfolded the knife. Was it big enough? Sharp enough? He didn't want to kill the rabbit inhumanely, but he was inexperienced in the deliberate murder of small animals. He was regrettably adept at accidentally forgetting about lab rats until they ran out of food or water… but purposefully killing something made him almost squeamish. _A fact that should have been in my favor in the trails for her murder,_ he thought grimly.

He carefully positioned the knife in one of the gaps in the trap, and aimed at the rabbit's neck. He prayed to whatever forces were out there that could assist in his luck with killing the animal, and with a deep breath, he jabbed the knife in. A small, short shriek, and the deed was done.

Wilson shivered a bit when he withdrew the blade, covered in the blood of an innocent animal. He didn't fear blood, but he definitely disliked killing. Made him feel dirty. Ashamed.

With slow, calculated movements he cleaned the blood off the blade and replaced it in his pocket. He opened the trap and retrieved the unfortunate animal, carefully resetting the device. With the dead rabbit hanging by its curled horns in one hand and the broken trap in the other, he made his way back to Wendy's camp.

He presented his quarry to her. She seemed unimpressed, but that could have just been because she was too engrossed in some new weaving project to properly acknowledge his accomplishment. It was still too early to tell what she was making, but what she had finished was masterfully done, much like the traps. If nothing else, the girl was talented. She took the broken trap and rabbit from him, and directed him to a few more traps in the area. Along the way, he decided to collect some berries off the bushes he passed by.

By the time he had checked all the traps and spent another good amount of time collecting berries and firewood, the two had a five rabbits, a veritable mountain of berries, and enough wood to last through the approaching night. To make doubly sure that they wouldn't run the risk of running out of light, he found a bunch of sticks and grass to make a few torches out of.

By then, Wendy had finished her project: another sleeping mat for Wilson. He thanked her graciously, secretly surprised she went through the trouble even though she was still grumpy with him. He got a fire going, thinking with grim amusement how much easier it was to light a fire when he wasn't about to be killed by an unseen assailant. He settled down on his new grass mat and clumsily prepared the rabbits for cooking. He set aside scraps of fat to add to the torches. He read somewhere once that fat burned well.

Wilson eventually formed a few impromptu shish-kabobs made of rabbit morsels and berries, and cooked them over the crackling fire. Though the flavor was bland, they enjoyed a hearty dinner that Wilson's malnourished body simply quivered in happiness for. As Wendy mentioned spitefully, it could have used some salt, but any food was good enough for him at this point. He laid back in the grass, content.

He heard a ripping sound near him, then a clump of something cold flopped down on his face and neck. He opened his eyes, and he heard the ripping noise again.

He shook off the blades of grass that covered him and looked at Wendy as she dropped another handful on his face. He sputtered and sat up on his elbows to glare at her.

"Well, that's not very mature, is it?"

She responded by placing more grass on him.

"Alright, you asked for it!" and he began to tear up handfuls of grass and throw them at her, Wendy responding in kind. The two became human lawnmowers as they crawled around laughing and throwing chunks of grass at each other. They were going so fast, that they were lobbing not just blades of grass, but occasionally their entire dirt-clad root systems as well.

Suddenly, something hit Wilson's face with a hollow thwack and he paused to look down at it in surprise. He glanced up at Wendy, who had halted her grass picking in mid-rip as she gazed at the thing that lay before Wilson, her mouth slightly agape.

The two burst out laughing, quickly growing too weak from the mirth to even continue picking grass. Wendy had, by some freak coincidence, torn up a whole carrot from the ground and thrown it at Wilson, beaning him in the head with it.

"I guess we've got dessert now!" Wilson blubbered out. He was nearly crying from laughter that had overcome him. Wendy was on the ground, belly laughing like Wilson had never heard anyone do before. This made him laugh harder, in turn causing him to snort loudly, tossing the two in to renewed peals of hysterics. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so hard. All that pent-up stress really put some pressure on his funny bone, if all it took was a carrot to throw him into such a frenzy!

Eventually Wendy and Wilson had relaxed into occasional giggles. Wilson's ribs hurt more than ever before, but regardless he felt happy, something he hadn't quite felt to this extent in a long time. He smiled stupidly at the sunset, enjoying it for the first time in years. They sat in silence until the sun dipped below the horizon and the colorful display faded.

He glanced over at Wendy, who was losing badly in her fight against sleep. He smiled, and went over to kneel by her.

"Miss Wendy, may I have the pleasure of taking you to your bed for the night?" he asked softly.

She nodded sleepily, and he carefully scooped her up and carried her to her bedroll, setting her down carefully. By then, she was almost completely asleep, and she barely heard Wilson's gentle, "Goodnight."

Wilson threw another log on the fire as darkness claimed the land. This night was very different from the first. It felt safe, almost homey, like one of those camping trips his father used to take him on when he was young, long before his life fell apart. He could breathe easy knowing that with the comforting light of the fire, there were fewer things to worry about.

He laid down on the mat Wendy had made for him, and was surprised to discover how well it masked all the offending rocks and sticks that he was sprawled over. Tonight would be a good night.

His mind eased, his belly full, and someone he daresay call a friend at his side, Wilson slipped into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

  
  


Wilson awoke with the rising sun, feeling more rested and refreshed than he had for a long time. He sat up to stretch his sore muscles and groaned in displeasure at the pain that wove its way among his ribs. _Just one morning I'd like to wake up not in pain…_ he thought, disgruntled.

He looked over at Wendy. She was still curled up on her mat, her hand by her mouth in what seemed to be a vestigial habit of sucking her thumb. Wilson was hardly one to call a kid adorable, but he did have to admit that the scene before him was kind of cute. A corner of his mouth twitched up in amusement.

He then turned his attention to the fire. A fading bed of coals was still there, softly crackling to itself. Careful to stay as silent as possible, Wilson stirred the coals into life again and began skewering leftover berries from last night's feast onto a stick. He settled down to slow roast the berries for breakfast.

He had just finished and was checking to see if the berries were thoroughly cooked when Wendy rolled over and blearily opened her eyes. She wasn't quite awake enough to register sight yet, going by her blank look, but he could tell her nose was picking up the scent of breakfast. She took a deep breath and her eyes woke up a little more, finally starting to make sense of her surroundings.

Wendy rolled over onto her back and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, sitting up when she was finished. She didn't look very happy, but Wilson just assumed that she wasn't much of a morning person.

"Breakfast," she mumbled groggily, somewhere between a question and a statement.

"Come and get it! Bon appétit!" He waved the stick with a flourish, and handed it to her. She stared at it for a long moment, then began slowly nibbling the berries, seeming like she was still trying to drag herself out of unconsciousness. Her eyes drooped as she absentmindedly chewed, not tasting the berries at all.

"So, what shall we do today Wendy?" Wilson asked. Perhaps some conversation would help get her going.

She shrugged, not changing her blank-faced eating.

Wilson frowned. "Is your leg still hurting you?"

Wendy stopped and looked down at her leg and toyed with the hem of her skirt. From his position, Wilson couldn't quite see what she was looking at. When he tried to adjust his vantage point to see better, Wendy noticed and moved accordingly so he couldn't see.

"What are you hiding? If it's that bad it should be looked at." She didn't look at him. She merely remained silent and looked down at her partially eaten food, and made no move to continue.

"Wendy, are you alright? You don't seem to have an appetite this morning." Wilson was worried. She sure wasn't acting sassy and aloof like she was yesterday, and he was beginning to suspect it wasn't because of typical grogginess. Wendy put her food down and slumped a bit more. There was definitely something wrong.

He crawled a bit closer to her. "Please, Wendy. I need to look at your injury. I think it's probably what's making you feel unwell." She didn't move to look at him. He gently grabbed her arm to get her attention, and was surprised by the amount of heat radiating off her skin. She had a fever.

"Wendy, you're sick. I'll be blatantly honest with you, it's possible that you could die out here if it gets too bad. Please, let me help you." Wilson felt rather ill himself. He didn't want to lose his companion, and he refused to let Maxwell take an innocent life. Especially that of a child.

"Miss Wendy, please…"

Finally Wendy looked at him, her droopy eyes bloodshot and teary. She looked absolutely miserable. She nodded slowly and adjusted herself so the hurt leg was near him. She pulled up her skirt a bit so he could see the large gash on the side of her knee.

It was nearly five inches long, and very deep and swollen. It had tinges of white and green, indicating an infection. Wilson's heart sank. Without some kind of medicine, the wound would have a very difficult time healing, especially in these unsanitary conditions.

"We're going to need to clean that…" Wilson mumbled. "Do you have any containers for boiling water? We can't risk any more pathogens thriving in the wound."

For the first time that day, Wendy spoke an actual sentence. Her voice sounded heavy and uncomfortable. "I know a better way. Spider glands."

"Spider glands? I've never heard of such a thing. How did you come across this information?"

"Abigail and I were attacked by these giant spiders once. She killed most of them for me, but one of them gave me a pretty nasty cut." She pointed to a fresh scar on her left arm, and a chill crept up Wilson's spine. "I was taking apart the dead spiders after, trying to see if there was anything useful, when I accidentally popped this strange pink gland. It squirted some stuff onto my arm, and the bleeding from the cut stopped almost immediately. I gathered a few more glands, and the next couple of days I kept using them on my wound. It healed really fast, and never got infected. We could try that." She gave a tired sigh and slumped a bit. All that talking seemed to have tired her out. Wilson nodded. He'd have to make sure she took it easy from now on.

"Do you have any more of those glands?" he asked gently.

She shook her head. "No, but I know where the spiders are. I can show you." She tried to get up, but Wilson pushed her back down. He was impressed by her determination, but she needed to rest.

"No. You are in absolutely no condition to travel, let alone uhh... _fight_ spiders." Any spider that was big enough to cause such a large injury was definitely nothing to be trifled with. He seriously hoped that this was another game of hers, and the cut actually came from another source, like a rogue tree branch or sharp rock. He didn't want to believe that an arachnid could grow to such a terrifying size.

Wendy dished out her characteristic stubborn pouty face, but complied.

"Now, where are those spiders?"

Wendy pointed. "They're in the thicker part of the forest, right next to the river."

Wilson nodded and stood up. He gestured to Wendy's spear. "May I take that along too?" he asked, to which she nodded in affirmation. He picked up the weapon, tested to make sure it was still sturdy, and set off on his quest. He walked with confidence and determination for Wendy's sake as long as he was in her sight, but deep down he was scared out of his wits. Spiders really weren't all that scary, since statistically speaking most of them were harmless, and the rest would much rather run from a human than attack. He had plenty of them living in the corners of his lab, and he had never had a problem with them. A giant spider on the other hand… that could pose a whole different scenario.

Wilson glanced back at the camp once he was a little way away, and saw that Wendy had laid down again, and was stroking the petals of her flower again, saying something he couldn't quite hear. He hoped she would be okay until he returned. If the spider glands didn't work as well as Wendy had described, then the poor girl could be in deep trouble.

He walked deeper into the forest, and eventually found the river. He began following it, treading carefully. _Perhaps the spiders were actually large tarantulas?_ he speculated. He knew that some of those could get frighteningly large. Some as big as a dinner plate. However, he recalled that nobody had yet discovered a tarantula that could kill a person, only spiders have the right kind of venom to do that. Sure, some tarantula bites could produce some of the worst pain a human could imagine and make one wish they were dead, but there had yet to be a record of someone dying from a bite dealt by a tarantula. Only slightly comforting, but if he were to come face-to-face with a giant arachnid, a tarantula would definitely be his first pick. At least his chances of dying would be slimmer.

Wilson stepped on something sticky. He stopped and looked down at this foot, lifting it up to get a better look at the offending substance. To his surprise, the dirt around his foot came up with it, still stuck to the sole of his shoe. He began shaking his foot, trying to dislodge it, and the ground around him danced with his movements. He realized upon further inspection the ground had lines of white spread across it, much like a net or—

-A spider web. Wilson's blood went cold as it dawned on him, and that same moment he heard a raspy growling sound come from behind the tree in front of him, deeper into the bed of web. Terrified, Wilson used the spear to scrape the sticky substance off his shoe and backed away slowly, keeping an eye out for whatever made that horrible nose. He didn't have to wait very long.

A huge, fuzzy black thing came round the tree and looked right at Wilson with eight, soulless white eyes. It opened its mouth and let out another blood-curdling wail and started scuttling toward him on six spiky legs.

Wilson found his mouth hanging open in surprise, and he quickly closed it. What was that thing? It was like no arachnid he had ever heard of! It only had six legs, an unusual number for a spider, unless it lost the extra two in some other incident. Was it actually an insect of some sort?

Before he could analyze the thing any longer, the spider was upon him, lunging at him with its jagged teeth. Wilson swung the spear in front of him just in time, and the spider hit it. Unfortunately, the spear didn't puncture the spider's thick exoskeleton, but it served to stun the thing regardless.

_The spider has teeth! Spiders aren't supposed to have teeth!_ Wilson thought frantically. He funneled his terror into a solid _thwack!_ on the spider's head with the spear, which served to stun it again. He whacked and stabbed the creature until it lay still, stifling his almost overwhelming urge to scream. Wilson held the spear above him, staring at the spider and holding his breath, ready to bring down the weapon for another blow should it decide to move again. It didn't.

Wilson relaxed his battle stance after a few moments and focused on slowing his panicked breathing. He gazed down at the unfortunate, hideous creature before him.

The body alone was the size of a basketball, and was contained in only one segment. _Curious,_ he thought. Arachnids usually have two segments. Perhaps it was some kind of overgrown cousin of a harvestman spider? There was the matter of the missing two legs however, and the fact that the thing had actual teeth and a jaw-like structure rather than fangs and arachnid mouthparts was concerning. It definitely wasn't a normal spider. Perhaps its ancestors once were, but a few hundred years of isolation on an island can create all kinds of unique creatures. There were sentient pigment here too, for heaven's sake! A mutant spider should come as no surprise.

The thought made Wilson's worries return. There was no doubt now, this island was definitely remote enough to be out of the way of human activity. Still, he had to do something to get rescued, it was their only hope… but first things first. He had to make sure he and Wendy would live long enough to see that day.

Wilson knelt next to the carcass. He looked it over, and found a crack in the chitin. He wedged his spearhead into it and pulled, widening the split and pulling its exoskeleton open. The flesh inside was purple and foul-smelling, and he strongly desired a pair of rubber gloves for this endeavor. Wilson pulled up his sleeves, and with a deep breath and a wince, dug into the corpse seeking the gland. He ruled out several other strange organs one by one until he found a fat, pink thing that seemed to contain some liquid. He looked at it closer, and a strange, tangy antiseptic smell reached his nose. Going by the scent and the matching color to Wendy's description, this was probably what he was looking for.

Suddenly, another raspy hiss echoed through the trees. Wilson looked up and saw another spider coming at him. He dropped everything and grabbed his spear, stumbling as he stood to face the monster. It scuttled toward him, baring its animal-like fangs. Wilson waited until it was close enough for him to jab it with the spear, and swung at it hard. The spider spat in surprise, but before it could recover Wilson was stabbing and hitting it with all the strength and speed he could muster, his protesting injury allowing. Soon, like its predecessor, the beast lie still.

Wilson was working on catching his breath again when he heard the sound of sloppy chewing. He swung around and found yet another spider eating the innards of the first one he had killed.

"Oh no you don't! That's mine!" he yelled at it, and threw the spear as hard as he could. It struck the spider with a sickening crunch. More confident in his spider fighting abilities now, Wilson charged at the spider, tore the spear from it, and swiftly offed the monster.

Wilson's veins sang with adrenaline, and he had to bend over and put his hands on his knees to lessen the pain of breathing. His body shook with pent-up nervous energy, and he could hear his wildly beating heart pounding in his ears. He had escaped the fights unharmed, but his body was still in a flurry of shock from the experience of killing a creature yet again.

Once he got himself under control, he dissected the spiders, searching for the glands and anything else that could be useful. He discovered another gland connected to what he assumed were the spinnerets that was filled with raw web. By the texture of it, he theorized he could probably turn it into silk and make some other use of it. Completing his dirty work, Wilson gathered up his treasures and set off on a brisk walk back to camp, taking a quick detour to the river to wash the purple blood off his hands and spear.

Hopefully Wendy was still okay.

 

 


	5. Settling Down

 

When Wilson returned to camp he found Wendy still on her grass mat, lying down with Abigail’s flower in her hand. She didn’t stir when he approached, which made him incredibly nervous. He wasn’t sure how he could live with himself if he found her dead. He lived through such an experience once, and he wasn’t sure if he could survive it again. He was having flashbacks of that moment as he set down his items and knelt down next to her. He reached out to gently try and nudge her awake, and he found her skin still hot to the touch. She was breathing slowly. Wilson let out a sigh of relief. At least she was still alive.

Before he put on the spider gland fluid, he needed to clean the wound. The gland wouldn’t do much good if dirt and other foreign particles were still embedded in the flesh, holding in the infection. He searched around camp, but he was unable to find any sort of pot that could be used to boil water for sterilizing.

“Can there just be one easily obtainable sanitary thing I can use?”Wilson mumbled angrily under his breath. All he wanted to do was help the poor girl, but everything on this cursed island seemed determined to stop him.

Wilson then remembered his chunks of gold. Gold was known for being a relatively soft metal, and he hypothesized that with the right application of force, he could potentially beat it out into a bowl. He got right to work, using a rock to strike the lump repeatedly. The noise caused Wendy to stir and awaken, which made Wilson feel more at ease about her condition. If she was still capable of consciousness, then it was much more likely that she would recover.

After a long while of swinging the rock and taking short breaks to let his tired limbs rest, Wilson was able to pound out a vague bowl shape. Wendy never said anything during his strange display, though she surely must have had questions. Instead, she merely sat quietly, holding her flower.

Wilson got the fire stoked with a few more logs, and left Wendy to tend it while he fetched water from the nearby stream. He brought back the bowl of water and set it on the edge of the fire, allowing it to boil. The two sat in strained silence as the water slowly heated. _A watched pot never boils,_ Wilson thought sarcastically, wishing the water would hurry up. He coaxed it away from the flames with a forked stick when it was done, then left it to cool a bit while he prepared his other instruments.

A bolt of inspiration hit Wilson, and he retrieved the silk he got from the spider and carefully formed it into some makeshift gauze. He brought all his supplies over to Wendy.

“I’m not one to sugarcoat things, as you have probably already discovered,” he began warily. “I’m no good at it anyway. I’ll be honest with you Wendy, this will probably hurt, but if we can get it done we can have you feeling better in no time. Then we can work on getting home all safe and sound, alright?” He gave her a small, forlorn smile.

Wendy bit her lip and nodded. She adjusted her position so her hurt leg was in front of Wilson, and held her arms close to her chest, cupping her flower in her hands and closing her eyes tightly.

Wilson dipped his gauze into the warm water and hesitated as he approached Wendy’s wound with it. He swallowed a hard lump in his throat. He was unfamiliar on how to care for such an injury. Once he saw something much worse, but there was nothing he could do about it. The victim was too far gone for help. A small bandage on a cut was all he had ever cared for successfully. The gash he inflicted on his hand to start up Maxwell’s machine being one of the most severe injuries he personally ever had to deal with, and even that was minor in comparison to this gaping laceration before him.

He couldn’t help but take a mental detour at this thought, glancing at his hand and finding only a line of new, pink scar tissue where there should still be a slash. He had been so caught up in trying to survive he had completely forgotten about it. He suspected that Maxwell probably had something to do with this, somehow healing him completely before dropping him on this dismal island. _Can’t have his new toy damaged before he plays with it,_ Wilson thought with a grim smile. _Still, I can’t help but wonder just how long I was unconscious if I had enough time to heal so much and get transported so far away from home…_

He shook his head slightly and turned his attention back to Wendy. “I’m going to start now. Are you ready?” he asked gently. She nodded again, not opening her eyes. He got right to work cleaning the gash. Her breath hissed when he first touched the gauze to it, but he ignored the sound, concentrating on his job with single-minded determination and robotic, calculated movements. He cleaned out as much visible grime and infection that he could see. Wendy turned out to be much braver in the face of someone digging around in her injury than he expected, with only a minimal amount of whimpers and twitches.

Once he had cleaned and rinsed the wound to the best of his abilities, he retrieved the spider gland and popped it open with his penknife as Wendy watched. The sharp, antiseptic smell grew must stronger as he scooped the thick, clear liquid out and spread it across Wendy’s injury. She winced and tensed as it stung. Wilson noted with surprise at how well the goo seemed to be holding the edges of the cut together already, just as well as a bandage would. If he didn’t know any better, he would even say it was even contracting to bring the gash closed.

After a few moments, Wendy visibly relaxed and gave a heavy sigh. “It made it go numb,” she said quietly. “It feels good.”

Astounding. Who knew that such a fantastic substance could be obtained from such strange creatures? If he ever got off this island, he should later find it again to attempt to harvest more of the stuff from the spiders and refine it further to make it more potent. If he played his cards correctly, he could even market it. He could push medical science into a whole new era! Then he would finally get some recognition for his scientific prowess. To think that it only took being kidnapped by a madman to get him what he needed.

As he daydreamed about the scientific journal he would publish about the spider glands, he prepared another piece of gauze and put it over Wendy’s injury, securing it to her leg using a few pieces of grass to tie it in place. His work complete, he sat back and looked at Wendy.

“Now, how does that feel?”

“Very nice… I actually feel better already,” she replied, moving her leg around a bit to test it. “It seems death shall not claim me this day.”

“Great!” he exclaimed, vaguely perturbed by her second statement. He picked up the remains of the berries on a stick and waved it around a bit. “Feeling well enough to finish breakfast?”

She nodded, and he handed it over to her. She began to eat slowly, but looked a lot less like a living corpse than she had earlier.

Satisfied that Wendy was doing well for the moment, Wilson got up to check the rabbit traps again. With a quick word to Wendy to tell her where he was going, he wandered off to gather the food, keeping an eye out for carrots and any berry bushes he may have missed.

As he walked, he thought. They needed a plan to get off the island. Trying to sail off the island on a makeshift boat wouldn’t work, too large of a possibility of getting lost at sea. Perhaps he could try signaling for help? His best bet would likely be smoke signals. Any passing ships could see the smoke and might come investigate. However, he knew he didn’t have the resources or time to keep a smoky fire going all day… he would be forced to limit himself. Maybe once a day he would go light the fire by the ocean. He doubted it would work, but having a goal made him feel much better about the situation. Something was better than nothing after all.

He collected a couple of rabbits and a handful of carrots. He looked down at the dirty orange root with disdain. He never cared too much for carrots, or any vegetable for that matter. They were always so bland and soulless. He could tolerate them in a stew or some other conglomeration of other ingredients, but just a lone carrot made his nose wrinkle in disgust. He supposed he would just have to grin and bear it, since now more than ever he could really use the nutrients. If all else failed, he could just give all the carrots to Wendy.

To satisfy his sweet tooth, Wilson went out of his way to locate and pick more berries. He struggled somewhat trying to balance all his new stuff in his arms, and resolved to try and convince Wendy to use her weaving skills to craft some kind of bag to carry stuff in.

When he returned, he found Wendy smiling. “Well, you’re certainly feeling better I presume,” he said cheerfully. That spider gland really seemed to be working miracles! _I wonder if there’s any way to improve its potency further with the resources on this island…_

Wendy nodded. “Look! Abigail’s flower is blooming!”

Indeed it was. The previously closed, pale flower had opened up slightly, revealing darker pink petals within. Wilson couldn’t help but wonder how a picked flower could have bloomed. It wasn’t even being kept in water. It should be wilting, not blooming! He kept his thoughts to himself however, not wanting to rain on the little girl’s parade with his own bafflement.

Wilson nodded and smiled. “It’s very pretty!” he exclaimed. “Just like you, Miss Wendy,” he added on a whim. Wendy seemed to like that. She simply beamed, her eyes scrunching up from her grin.

Wilson sat down for a rest, and Wendy hummed little songs to herself as she played with the flower. Birds chirped cheerfully around them, and the foliage swayed gently in the warm breeze. If they weren’t trapped on some uncharted island, the scene could easily be considered peaceful and serene.

  
  


Adequately refreshed, Wilson got up to implement his new escape plan. “Hey Wendy. Which way do I go to get to the beach the quickest?” She gave him a questioning look, but pointed nonetheless.

“I’m going to head over there for a little while and see if I can build a signal fire,” he explained. “While I’m gone, could I ask a favor of you?”

She eyed him in mock suspicion. “Yes…?”

“It’s nothing big. I was just curious if you could make a bag or backpack to carry things in. I figure it could come in handy later.”

She thought for a moment, her head tilting to the side. “Yeah, I could try to make something like that. Sounds fun! Better than sitting around waiting for my demise.”

“Er… Great! I’ll go get some more grass for you before I head off.” Wilson spent the next half hour or so collecting as much tall grass and other supplies as he could find. When he dropped it all off at camp, Wendy gave him a playfully patronizing look.

Afraid he had done something wrong again, he looked down at the pile of grass and back up at her. “What? What have I done?” he cried defensively.

“That’s a _lot_ more than I needed for a simple backpack, you lunatic,” she replied with a haughty smile.

“Well… I…” Wilson struggled to find a good comeback, but failed to do so. To cover up his embarrassment he made a mocking face at Wendy, who in turn raised a bored eyebrow at his childish retort.

“Bah, I’m leaving.” He rolled his eyes in defeat. He began to walk away, turning back to call out, “At least it’s too much rather than not enough!”

“You’re still a lunatic!” she shouted back.

Wilson shook his head. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t get eaten by a berry bush or anything while I’m gone!” He hoped as an afterthought that that wasn’t an actual occurrence on the island.

“Fine,” She called back, sounding completely disinterested.

He traveled through the forest, collecting a few chunks of wood that he would use in the fire. Upon arriving, he gathered enough rocks to make a fire pit far enough from the water to avoid drowning the flames, but close enough that he was easily visible from the water. He got the fire blazing, and located some leaves to throw on it. Smoke billowed in a huge column from the fire. Wilson carefully tended to the fire for a few long hours, tossing on more wet leaves and whatnot onto the flames when the smoke began to dissipate.

Wilson kept a close eye on the horizon for any ships, but as expected, there were none to be seen.

Wilson let the fire die out, and began his trek back to camp. He honestly hadn’t expected to see anything, but it was still quite depressing that he was still lost on an island for another day.

When he found his way back to camp, he was surprised to see Wendy up and walking around, with a much less severe limp than he would have expected from such a deep wound. When she noticed him, she gave a big grin and retrieved something. She walked up to him, hiding it behind her back and looking about innocently.

“What have you got there?” he asked, taking the bait. She obviously wasn’t going to just show him without him asking.

With a flourish, she presented to him a surprisingly well-made grass backpack. He was quite impressed. She was really good at this.

“You need to teach me how to do that,” he muttered as he closely inspected the pack’s excellent workmanship.

She shrugged her shoulders casually. “Okay. Here, I’ll show you.” Wendy grabbed his hand and pulled him over to their mats, sitting him down next to her and the pile of grass.

“So, here’s how you do a basic weave…” she began, demonstrating how to do to it and making Wilson copy her. As he slowly learned, she showed him how to do a wide variety of things, which Wilson imitated carefully. She smacked him a couple times when he didn’t understand a step, and at one point he was convinced her eyes were going to pop right out of her head from all the exasperated rolling they were doing.

After a couple hours of slow teaching, she successfully had instructed him to make a wide-brimmed hat. Perfect for keeping the sun out of one’s eyes. Wendy’s had turned out tightly woven and nigh on perfect, but Wilson’s in contrast was loose and ragged, and far too small for his head, especially with his mane of wild hair.

Wendy laughed as he looked at his finished hat dejectedly, and placed her hat on his head. She then took his project and placed it on her own head. Surprisingly, they fit each other very well. Wilson smiled as he adjusted his new hat.

He didn’t normally care much for children, but Wendy was pretty alright. Sometimes a little creepy and a bit too fixated on euphemisms for death, but… alright.

About this time both of their stomachs had begun to growl, so Wilson set out to gather more firewood as Wendy reawakened the dying coals in the pit. They cooked up the food Wilson had collected, and enjoyed another hearty meal.

“I still think it could use some salt,” Wendy said dryly, holding back a teasing smile as she looked at Wilson, waiting for his reaction.

“Why, I thought it was perfect!” Wilson cried in mock offense.

Wendy giggled, and rested her head on his shoulder. She was tired. Night was quickly approaching, and a day of fighting infection and dealing with Wilson followed by a full meal had left the girl exhausted.

“Let’s check on that leg of yours, then get you to bed,” he suggested. She nodded and yawned, almost knocking Wilson in the jaw with her fist as she stretched. He removed her bandage and was pleased to find that the wound looked much, much better. He cleaned it up again and reapplied fresh gland goo and silk gauze. Wendy, not to be outdone, found a way to weave a better bandage to hold the gauze in place more securely and comfortably than Wilson’s own rudimentary grass ties.

By this time Wilson’s headache was long gone and forgotten, and his ribs had even begun to protest a little less to his movements. Wendy was content as well, and Wilson had to admit that things weren’t all that bad at the moment. He laid down on his mat after he assured that Wendy was comfortably asleep, and gazed up at the stars.

They all seemed to be in the wrong place, and he suspected that may indicate that they were on an island somewhere south of the equator. He wished he could remember constellations better from the brief time he studied them. It would be fun to teach Wendy about them on clear nights like this. But alas, he knew not the southern stars. His last thought before he too drifted off to sleep was that he wanted to invest some time back home filling that gap in his knowledge.

For the next few days, Wilson and Wendy settled into a routine. Every day around high noon Wilson would go out and do his smoke signals. Both of their injuries improved steadily, and soon Wendy was able to help search for food, making more traps as she found more places to hunt for rabbits. The two even found a huge beehive one afternoon, filled with hamster-sized bees that sent Wilson into a fit of heebie-jeebies, much to Wendy’s amusement.

They continued to learn to make things together, like flower garlands, silk strings, and other useful woven things. The days passed smoothly, save for Wilson complaining vehemently on a daily basis about the stubble growing oh his chin, a few stubbed toes, and a couple mild arguments (like which side of the campfire the new sitting log should be placed). Overall, the two lived decently in their strange new world.

Until someone found them.

 

 


	6. Dissolution

 

Wilson was on his walk back from the beach after his daily smoke signal ritual, his steps slow and purposely clumsy.

_Another day, another disappointment,_ he thought bitterly, kicking over a few leaves. He had been doing it every day without fail for a little over a week now… or was it two? It was hard to tell at this point, the days seemed to blur into one another. Day after day of hunting, gathering, and trying to survive. It really was a drag. Wilson rubbed his chin, making a face when he felt the beard that was coming in. He hated it. Sure, he could grow a pretty magnificent beard, but he felt it made him look more like a wildman than a gentleman. Long ago she liked him clean shaven…

The sound of a stick snapping behind him halted his thoughts. He spun around, prepared for a monster attack, but was met with something far worse.

A tall man in an overtly fancy suit stood directly before him, smoking a cigar as if he hadn’t a care in the world. There was something instinctively _wrong_ about him.

“Who are you?” Wilson demanded, pointing his spear threateningly at the man's face. _How did he sneak up on me like that?_ He thought, alarmed. The man chuckled.

“Oh, don’t you recognize me, Wilson?” he said, casually pushing the spear’s tip aside and leaning forward. “Honestly, I think you should recognize an old friend.” A cruel smile played upon his prominent lips.

Wilson recognized that voice. First from the old radio, and then when he woke up in this strange place. Now its owner stood in front of him.

“You’re no friend of mine, _Maxwell!”_ Wilson yelled back fiercely, replacing the spear’s business end to the man’s chest. Maxwell dropped his cigar in surprise at Wilson's sudden aggression. “You dare have the _gall_ to even pretend! You disgust me.” Wilson had never been this angry. He advanced on Maxwell, forcing him to step back to avoid injury.

“Now, now, don’t be so spiteful,” Maxwell said, putting his hands up in mock surrender, backing himself up against a tree. His voice was slow and melodious. “I’ve merely come to give you some advice.”

Wilson shoved his spear to Maxwell’s throat, holding the quivering tip to the skin. He narrowed his eyes. “What could you ever say that would make any of this better?” he spat. “You left me here to die, and worse, one of your own kin has already paid the price!”

Maxwell smiled again. “And you care for the other, don’t you? Ah, but she’s holding you back, Wilson. You could be doing so much more. Don’t you want to go home, make things go back to the way they were? To before _she_ was taken by the darkness? I certainly would. I’ll have you know that I can make that happen. If you don’t find me, however, none of this is possible, I assure you. Your silly little smoke signals will beckon no rescuer, not today or any other day. You are mine until I say otherwise, my little puppet.”

“I’ve found you now, doesn’t that count?” Wilson was unnerved by Maxwell’s knowledge of his past, more specifically, about _her_. Sure, it wasn’t all that difficult to dig up that dirt on him—you could ask anyone in town about the murder—but what manner of man would just to spite him? Even worse… to bait him? Wilson elected to ignore this fact for the moment, and continued, “At least take Wendy home. She doesn’t deserve to be stuck out here, you snake.” He pushed the spear harder into Maxwell's neck.

“No, no, _I_ found _you_ Wilson. This encounter means little. I merely came to motivate you into action. Your recent activity has been terribly boring, Wendy has domesticated you far too much. Perhaps we will have to be rid of her…” A strange, uncharacteristic expression flashed across Maxwell’s face, but it was gone before Wilson had the time to assess it.

Again, Wilson pressed his spear deeper into Maxwell’s neck, now breaking the skin. “Don’t you _dare_ hurt Wendy,” his voice was deep, slow, and murderous. A thin stream of black blood trickled from the wound, and Wilson noted with surprise that the tip of the spear seemed to be turning dark, as if covered with soot. Maxwell reached up and touched the blood, bringing his hand forward to look at it.

“Now that wasn’t very nice of you. This suit is worth more than you could ever hope to be, and now you’ve gone and gotten a bloodstain on it. Not much of a gentleman, are you? Though I suppose this isn’t your first time that you’ve done such a thing.”

Maxwell certainly knew where to hit where it hurt. For one, Wilson had always striven for being as gentlemanly as he could, despite his social awkwardness. To say his efforts were in vain cut him deep. He knew he was a failure as a scientist, but the only other part of himself he wasn’t disappointed about was also inadequate? The accusation stung. Then there was the fact that he _knew._ Maxwell was using Wilson’s past against him.

“It wasn’t me…” Wilson whispered, looking away from Maxwell.

“But you have no way to prove it. In everybody else’s eyes, it was you who killed her.”

Wilson didn’t reply. The truth could hurt more than any weapon.

Maxwell smiled evilly at Wilson’s distress. “Now that we have put you back in your place, would you mind backing off a bit? I must say, this is a most uncomfortable position you have put me in.”

Wilson dejectedly put his spear down, still refusing to meet Maxwell’s eyes.

Maxwell straightened his suit and wiped the black blood from his neck with a handkerchief. He cleared his throat. “I shall say it once more: come find me. Mercy _may_ be shown to you, but only if you follow what your strings tell you to do, puppet. I will not hesitate to destroy any distractions, including that girl you picked up. In fact…” a malevolent smile crossed his face. “I may do something right now to get you moving.” He snapped his fingers, and was silent for a moment.

“There.” He roughly grabbed Wilson’s chin and forced him to look him in the eye. His touch felt icy cold, yet burned like a mild acid. Wilson was for once glad to have his beard, as it minimized the painful skin contact with Maxwell’s hand.

“That should do it. Now run, Wilson. She doesn’t have long.” Maxwell shoved Wilson to the ground, and the sound of cruel laughter filled the area. By the time Wilson recovered from the fall, Maxwell was gone.

A horrible, hellish noise echoed through the forest. Far off, but no doubt something deadly.

_Wendy!_ Wilson thought frantically. He gripped the spear, scrambled to his feet, and began to sprint toward the camp as fast as his legs would carry him.

_Please let me get there on time!_ He begged to whatever deities that may hear his plea.

He crashed through the underbrush, his arms and face getting whipped and scratched by low-hanging branches and thorny bushes. His lungs ached from the exertion, and he thanked the stars his ribs had healed enough to allow him this endeavor with minimal pain.

Wilson rushed into camp, his sides heaving from the effort of getting there so quickly. Wendy stood in the middle of the area, wide-eyed and terrorized, clutching the extra spear they had made.

“Wilson, what’s that noise?” she whimpered. Her usual stoic expression was replaced with a very childlike fear.

“I don’t know, but we need to move. Now. Grab as many vital supplies as you can and put them in the backpack. _Quickly!_ ” The two rushed about, grabbing food, leftover silk and spider glands, some torches, and a few other necessities. Wilson shouldered the pack and grabbed Wendy’s hand.

“Are you good to run?”

She nodded, checking for flower in her pocket—now almost fully bloomed—and gripped her spear tighter.

They ran.

The low noises eventually solidified into deep barks, and became louder as the beasts came closer. Wendy and Wilson crashed through the forest, miraculously keeping their footing as they sprinted across the uneven ground.

Wilson neglected watching where they were going in his haste to vacate the area. He soon found himself lost, but the mad howling behind them kept him barreling blindly forward, leading Wendy along with him at breakneck speeds, pulling her up by her arm any time she stumbled.

The barking grew closer, and soon he was able to hear the foliage crashing behind him. Adrenaline lashed at this muscles like a whip made of lightning, and he heard Wendy cry out in fear on more than one occasion. To be honest with himself, some of those cries might have been him.

Wilson chanced a glance behind him, and he nearly stumbled in his surprise. Following them were two unnaturally huge, black hounds. _Why can’t anything on this cursed island just stay a normal size?_ He screamed in his mind. He was too out of breath to say it out loud.

One of the massive dogs rushed up behind them, and tried to take a bite out of Wendy. Wilson was able to jerk her away just in time for the creature’s maw to close down on empty air. It stopped and barked angrily a few times, beginning to run again when its twin flew past it.

A quick glance at Wendy revealed that she had tears running down her face, and Wilson’s heart ached at the sight.

They broke through the tree line, and scrambled onto the beach. Wilson could see the site of his smoke signal off in the distance, and he turned sharply, helping Wendy to her feet when she slipped on the loose sand. They ran toward the fire.

They didn’t get far before one of the hounds cut them off, growling and barking at them ferociously, foamy saliva spraying from its mouth.

Wilson turned on his heel to head the opposite way, only to be blocked by the other, bigger hound.

Wilson pulled Wendy protectively behind him, backing slowly toward the water as the hounds closed in, licking their chops in anticipation of their meal. With the two feasts in front of them backing into the ocean’s water, they, unlike Wilson and Wendy, were unlikely to worry about not having salt on their meal.

Wilson kept one hand on Wendy behind him, and swung his spear threateningly at the hounds, making the most threatening face and posture he could muster. One of the dogs coughed in a way that sounded like it was _laughing_ at his frail display.

He could feel water seeping into his shoes as the hounds grew ever closer, the lukewarm water feeling chilly in comparison to the beasts’ hot breath. The larger hound’s head reached Wilson’s shoulders, and the sheer muscle mass on the thing was akin to a rhinoceros. The smaller one was quivering with excitement on its short, stocky legs. They reminded Wilson of overgrown Rottweilers mixed with a hellhound, covered in bristling, coarse fur that piled on their huge shoulders like a mane.

What could he do? Obviously, they couldn’t outrun the hounds. Their spears seemed like toothpicks compared to the bulk of the monsters before them. He chanced a hasty glance at Wendy behind him, who was holding onto Wilson’s waistcoat in a death grip as she squeezed her eyes shut.

The hounds seemed to be enjoying tormenting their quarry, putting off the kill like a man would put off a good cigar. Wilson’s thoughts raced, though his head hurt more ever. Could he distract them while Wendy made a break for it? It would likely get him killed, leaving the poor girl to herself once again. He didn’t want to put her through witnessing another death. But what other option was there? It was either him or both of them, and he had already promised to keep her safe. He once inadvertently broke that promise with someone else, and he had been haunted by it every day of his life since. If it came down to him having to sacrifice his own life to keep his promise this time, then so be it.

“Wendy, listen to me. Do exactly as I say,” he said quietly and urgently over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the hounds. He heard a small whimper in response. “I’m going to get their attention and distract them. When I say ‘go,’ run back into the forest. Climb a tree or something, find a safe place to hide. I’ll… I’ll take care of the hounds.”

He felt her grip grow harder on his waistcoat. “Wilson, they’ll use your bones for toothpicks!”

“What other choice do we have?” a hound barked at his outburst, nipping at his heels. He backed them up further, the water at his knees.

“ _Please._ Do this for me, Miss Wendy. Get out of here. Find Maxwell and get out of this place. For the both of us.” He felt numb. Hollow. But a strange sense of purpose filled his being, and he felt light. Finally, he could be useful for something other than an object of scorn.

He looked back once more, and saw Wendy look up at him. Her faced slowly eased into compliance at his resolute, grim expression. Another tear found its way down her cheek as she gave a small nod. She turned away from Wilson, releasing his waistcoat and squeezing her eyes shut, angrily rubbing away the tears.

Wilson turned to face the hounds.

 

* * *

 

Wendy watched as Wilson braced his position, glaring directly at the larger dog. The characteristic bags under his eyes seemed to grow deeper with the realization of his quickly approaching termination. She knew all too well that his plan would end in his untimely demise. She felt an ironic sense of happiness knowing how much he cared for her… enough to die for her. She had taken him as a rather wimpy man, too caught up in the inner workings of his mind to see what was around him. He knew much about the world, yet he was utterly blind to it.

Except now. It seemed to her that at here and now his eyes were open. He lived for this moment. It wasn’t the first occurrence of this kind of experience, the grass fight on the night he found her he was also able to abandon his scientific mind for a more simplistic, human one. Now was another one of those instances. She could see it in his eyes, his stance, his firm resolution. His mind was clear, and he had no need to scrutinize the situation.

Wilson, without breaking eye contact with the hound, rolled up his sleeves and slipped the backpack of supplies off his shoulders and handed it to her. She was careful to keep it out of the water, which reached nearly to her waist, the hem of her skirt dancing in the small motions of the waves.

What terrible insight is bestowed upon a person as someone they care about dies before their very eyes. Wendy had seen it once before, and it very nearly destroyed her before her unlikely reprieve. But now here she was again, preparing to view it once more. Only this time she doubted she would be as lucky as she was with Abigail.

Wilson tensed in front of her. With a yell he charged at the largest hound, hitting it sharply on the head with his black-tipped spear. The beast yelped, then released a mighty roar, lunging at Wilson. He broke into an awkward run through the water, effectively drawing all the attention to himself as the hounds practically smiled in anticipation of another good chase.

Wendy watched Wilson hit dry sand and make a break for it. “ _GO!”_ he shouted to her, with more terror and desperation than Wendy ever wanted to hear again. The sound of his breaking voice tore into her soul. It was the keen of a man who knew his dark fate, yet so desperately wanted to cling to life.

Wendy waded quickly and clumsily to shore, her eyes stinging from tears and salt water. She didn’t want Wilson to go.

She shot toward the trees, stopping when she reached the edge. She took one last look at her companion as he scrambled about, keeping the dogs occupied so she would have time to escape. She was just about to continue into the forest when she saw Wilson trip, his spear flying from his hand as he collapsed to the ground.

Wendy wanted to scream. To shout. To cry. To lament on the unfairness of it all. Everything seemed to go in slow motion as the hounds made their final lunges at Wilson’s prone form, dragging him by his legs and tearing into him.

Wendy squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears. No matter how hard she tried to block it out, she still heard loud yelps from the hounds, accompanied by the worst screams she has ever heard in her life.

The screams were filled with terror. The sheer terror of a dying man.

 

 


	7. The Phoenix

Wendy wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t allow it. She wanted to run to help Wilson, she wanted to run to safety, she wanted to run far, far away from this horrible place. However, her legs seemed frozen to the ground as she was forced to endure the sounds of her only living friend dying. Tears ran freely down her face as she huddled and shivered in the bushes.

A loud, high-pitched yelp reached her ears. Wendy chanced a peek between the leaves. She saw the smaller hound turning in circles, whining and limping on one hind leg. Suddenly, the other hound jumped and yelped, biting at its shoulder. The two dogs blundered about drunkenly for a few moments, slowly losing control of their stocky limbs and collapsing in black, hairy heaps on the ground.

Wendy was astonished. What happened to them? Was Wilson somehow able to kill the hounds? They didn’t seem to be pierced by any spear wounds, there was no blood that she could see. Did Wilson somehow poison them? Did eating him poison them? Wilson did mention once that since the animals on this island obviously had followed a divergent evolutionary path, that various parts of their biology and immune systems wouldn’t synchronize very well with her and Wilson’s.

Her curiosity got the best of her, and she carefully emerged from the bushes, keeping her spear at the ready. She slowly, quietly approached the scene. When she got close, one of the hounds kicked a leg and Wendy froze in her tracks, holding her breath. When no further movement was detected, she warily continued, staying close to the tree line and ready to flee at a moment’s notice. The swish of sand beneath her feet sounded like thunderclaps as she tried to sneak closer.

She got close enough to see that the hounds weren’t quite dead. They were slowly, laboriously breathing and laying in awkward, uncomfortable positions. They seemed to be… sleeping.

She brushed some of the hair out of her face and looked closer. In the shoulder of the larger hound was a clump of feathers. They looked like they were attached to something. It reminded her of a tiny, misshapen arrow.

Wendy turned her attention to the third prone form laying on the sand. Wilson lay as still as the hounds. Wendy quietly skirted the lumbering masses of dog to get to him.

His exposed arms were deeply cut and bitten as if he had been using them to keep the hounds’ mouths away from his face, only somewhat successfully. The oozing wounds were staining the ground around him red. His pant legs were slightly torn, and likewise were sticky with blood. He looked like a mess. A horrible, bloody mess.

Wendy carefully knelt beside him, feeling like she was moving in slow motion. It just didn’t seem real. Blood spatters covered his face and chest, the crimson almost disappearing amid the red of his waistcoat.

She touched his shoulder. “Wilson,” she said softly, so as not to wake the hounds. She detected a slight bit of movement from him, a shallow breath. Wendy’s heart leapt. Perhaps there was still a chance! She quickly glanced at the hounds to ensure they were still asleep, then began to gently shake Wilson.

“Wilson… Wilson! Wake up!” she whispered urgently. He didn’t respond. “Wilson, come on! We need to get away from here!” She shook him a little harder, glancing nervously at the hounds. There was still no reaction from him, and her worry grew.

“Wilson! _Get up!”_ she insisted, fighting back tears of panic. “Please Wilson! Wake up!” She shook him harder still, but he still didn’t answer her pleas. Tears broke free from her swollen, red eyes.

“Wilson… please don’t leave me. I need you! Wilson, please… _please wake up!”_

Still no reaction.

She grew angry at him. A childish thing, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. He couldn’t just die like this! Not after all they had been through!

She nearly pushed him over in her efforts to awaken him, ignoring the blood staining her hands. “Wilson!” she cried, paying no heed to the hounds beside her. “ _Wake up!”_

When there was still no response, she sat back on her heels and stared up at the sky, defeated. She could feel her tears dripping down from her face, soaking down into her collar. She released a crushed whimper, and pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face in her arms. Her body jerked and twitched from the heavy sobs, and she angrily rubbed her face into her sleeves to wipe away the tears that blinded her.

“Please, Wilson…please…”

At her last word, she heard a sound. Just a little one, but she raised her head from her arms to look. His throat was moving slightly, like he was trying to say something. She brushed a bit of her unruly hair out of her face and leaned in closer.

“Wilson…?” She whispered.

He slowly opened his eyes, one of them not quite opening all the way due to a bloody, swollen scratch skidding across his eyebrow and cheekbone. His eyes were having a hard time focusing, and had a sightless, glazed-over look.

His mouth worked for a moment, finally forming words. His voice sounded as roughed up and abused as his body looked. “W…Wendy? What are you still doing here?”

She couldn’t help but smile. She must look like a mess to him. Dirty, scratched, tears running down her face, and blood covering her hands. He was _much_ worse for the wear however, yet his first thought had been about her.

“I couldn’t just leave you,” she choked out. She glanced over at the closest dog. “Besides, the hounds don’t seem to be objecting to it right now.”

Wilson’s expression turned to confusion, and with a wince, he turned his head slightly to look at the hounds.

“But…how?” He rasped in wonder.

So much for Wilson being able to explain what happened. That wasn’t important at the moment, however. She grabbed his upper arm and pulled gently.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to stick around to see what they think of it! Come on, can you stand?” She didn’t want to be insensitive to his still-bleeding injuries, but if they didn’t get out of here fast, the hounds might awaken. Or worse. Whatever got the dogs might come after them too.

Wilson groaned in pain as she slowly helped him stand. He was a lot heavier than she expected him to be, given how scrawny he was. She gave him her spear to use as a walking stick, then fetched the black-tipped one he had dropped.

She helped him limp bit by bit to the tree line, away from the beach and the beasts that lie there. They walked carefully through the forest.

Progress was painfully slow. Wilson kept almost swooning from pain and loss of blood, and Wendy was forced to offer herself as support. At steady intervals she heard a loud _plip_ as drops of blood hit the ground, agitating the leaf litter. She knew that if she didn’t get him to a safe place quickly, he might still fail to survive this event.

Wendy was so focused on keeping Wilson upright, she didn’t even notice a figure step out in front of them.

“You look like you could use some help,” a mocking voice tittered.

Wendy whipped her head up to greet their unwelcome guest with an icy glare. She was surprised to find a tall, slender woman in a red blouse and black skirt standing before them.

Wendy had to admit she was quite pretty. Her black hair was pulled back into twin ponytails, and her skin was a pretty olive tone, no doubt accentuated from being exposed to the elements just as long if not longer than she and Wilson had. She seemed to be the kind of person that tanned rather than burnt, unlike Wendy and Wilson, whose pale skin both currently sported some pretty spectacular layered sunburns.

One of her most notable features however was her steady, confident gaze, matched with a sassy hand on her hip and a corner of her mouth upturned in a haughty grin.

Her body language alone made Wendy immediately dislike her. _Probably a hot-head with a superiority complex…_ she theorized, grimacing at her.

Wendy looked up at Wilson to gauge his reaction to the newcomer. Despite his hazy condition, she found him gawking at the woman with a stupid, open-mouthed crooked grin that enraged Wendy. She stomped sharply on his toe, yanking him back to reality, and his slack jaw shut with an audible snap.

When neither of them said anything, the woman scoffed and shook her head. “Fine, if you don’t need any help then I’ll just be on my way,” she said a sing-song voice and began to turn away. She stopped after a few steps, as if struck with a thought. “You know, you really should thank me. If it hadn’t been for me showing up when I did, you guys would be dog meat.” She tipped her head toward Wilson. “Especially you. Hell, I may have been too late to protect you from that. But since you two are so _obviously_ in no need of my assistance, I’ll leave you be.” She did a teasing cute wave with her fingers, and turned to trudge off.

Wendy looked up at Wilson again, who listlessly watched the woman walk away. Wendy knew he was in bad shape. She grit her teeth in frustration. As much as the woman irked her, she had to do something for Wilson. If that meant enduring her sassy attitude, she would just have to accept it. Wilson risked his life for her, the least she could do is put up with an attitude in return.

“…Wait,” she called out, and the woman stopped and spun around. Wendy could she was holding back a smile. “We… er, Wilson _does_ need help.” She glanced pointedly up at Wilson, who didn’t even seem to be hearing the conversation. She saw his blood still running down his arms and dripping from his fingers. “…Please.”

The woman came closer to get a better look at Wilson. Her smile faded into worry. “This is worse than I thought. Quick, do you have a camp nearby?”

Wendy nodded. “Over that way, but I don’t think Wilson can walk that far.”

The woman looked in the direction indicated, and grunted in acknowledgment. “Here, take this. Hopefully it’s not too heavy for you,” she took off her makeshift backpack and handed it to Wendy. Wendy noted with grim satisfaction that the weave work was hardly better than Wilson’s clumsy crafting, and was practically falling apart at the seams from the weight of the objects inside.

The woman quickly maneuvered Wilson onto her shoulders, piggy-back style. He was too dazed from blood loss and shock to protest, and without any more delay she jerked her head toward camp. “Lead the way.”

Wendy quickly led her through the forest, lugging two backpacks and two spears, while the woman carried Wilson. Her imperious demeanor had all but disappeared, replaced now by grim determination, ignoring the blood that was slowly staining her pretty red blouse.

They had been walking for a while when the woman spoke up once more. “Wilson, huh?”

Wendy nodded.

The woman pursed her lips slightly and nodded her head slightly a few times. “Nice. Well, I’m Willow if that matters any. What’s your name?”

“…Wendy,” she replied warily, still unsure if she could trust this strange woman.

“That’s cute. How long have you been here, Wendy?”

Wendy was growing quite tired of talking to her. She responded with short, clipped words. “Few weeks.”

“Have you been with Wilson that whole time?”

“No.”

Willow made a face. “Not much of a conversationalist, are you?”

Wendy didn’t respond.

Willow harrumphed and blew her bangs out of her eyes in exasperation.

To Wendy’s delight, they arrived at camp soon after. She motioned Willow over to Wilson’s grass mat, and left her to arrange him on the bed as she went to set down her own burden. She reached into her backpack and retrieved some of the silk and spider glands that she and Wilson had restocked a few days before.

Willow had just finished coaxing a very confused Wilson to lay down when Wendy dropped her stuff down by them.

“Oh, good, you’ve got spider glands!” Willow exclaimed. “Do you have any salve prepared already?”

Wendy stared at her in silence.

Willow quirked her mouth to the side. “I guess not. How about something like a bowl?”

Without a word, Wendy retrieved Wilson’s gold bowl and handed it to Willow.

“Hmm. That should work.” Willow quickly popped open a gland and squished the goo into the bowl. She cast her eyes around camp, and went over to the fire pit to scoop out a handful of ashes, which she promptly sprinkled into the bowl. She grabbed a small stick and knelt down by Wilson, vigorously mixing her strange creation.

Wendy stood off to the side, watching. What was she doing? For all Wendy knew, she could just be wasting and ruining their supplies. Sabotage. Wendy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Willow didn’t seem to notice, or at least not care.

Once Willow seemed satisfied with the disgusting looking mixture, she scooped it out and applied it to the worst of Wilson’s wounds. They almost immediately stopped bleeding, and the wounds seemed to be held together by the strange salve. Wendy was rather surprised. The stuff was working far better than the plain old goo ever had! She imagined that if Wilson were in his right mind he would be going haywire with excitement. He had talked a great deal recently about how he desired to refine the goo to be more potent.

Willow finished spreading the salve and wiped her hands off in the grass. “We’ll need to properly clean those out later, but I figured that the most important thing for now is to stop the bleeding.”

Wendy looked down at Wilson. His eyes were closed, and his arms were arranged on his chest so his wounds were exposed upward. This position was strikingly similar to that of a corpse in a coffin. He looked more dead now than he had sprawled out on the beach. The only thing convincing her that he wasn’t actually dead was the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“He looks ready for his own funeral,” Wendy mumbled, not taking her eyes off him.

“He kind of does, doesn’t he?” Willow agreed. “All he needs are some flowers to hold…” A mischievous grin spread across her face, and she jumped up and ran off into the forest.

Wendy sat down next to Wilson and started playing with his hair, carefully pulling out sticks and other debris that had gotten caught in it. Hopefully Willow was gone for good. Wendy could take care of Wilson just fine on her own. She had been doing so for a few days now anyway.

Unfortunately, Willow _did_ come back, a handful of flowers in her grasp. Still smiling, she approached Wilson and began carefully arranging the flowers in his hands, putting a few extras around his body and in his hair for decoration.

This served to make Wendy rather angry. Sure, she had teased Wilson mercilessly herself plenty of times before, but never in a situation where he couldn’t defend himself. Willow’s joke was downright inconsiderate.

“Aww, he looks so cute when he’s sleeping!” Willow gushed in an annoying baby-talk voice.

“Sleep is but a preview of death,” Wendy muttered darkly, standing up slowly.

“Well, aren’t you just a little ball of sunshine,” Willow retorted, giving her a sharp, disappointed look.

Wendy returned the glare, then turned and walked out of camp, grabbing a spear as she went. She made her way over to the stream to wash Wilson’s blood off her hands. She smiled at the sight of the red swirling in the gentle currents and eddies. Blood was such a lovely thing. Pretty to look at, but its true beauty can only be appreciated when it’s unseen, pumping through a body and giving it life. However, death isn’t any less charming in its own way. Rivers of crimson flowing as the inevitable approaches… It was… poetic.

Wendy broke from her morbid thoughts when the blood had been washed away. She stood, and continued on her way, collecting rabbits for dinner. She reveled in the terror in the rabbits’ eyes as she snapped their necks.

She wasn’t normally this brutal, and her actions and thoughts made her feel somewhat nervous. _I’m just stressed,_ she assured herself. _I almost saw another friend die, I’m stranded on a strange island somewhere, and to boot I’m left with a maniac with a motor-mouth._ She also noted that hear head had been hurting quite a bit since the hound attack.

“Definitely stress,” she said out loud, rubbing her aching forehead.

She walked back to camp, discovering Willow going through her backpack.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her voice slow and deadly.

Willow jumped at the sound. “W-Wendy? I didn’t hear you come back. I-I was just seeing what kind of supplies you had.”

Wendy narrowed her eyes.

“I swear I wasn’t stealing anything!” Willow cried, sounding genuinely scared. Seeing Wendy with a sharp spear and an armful of dead animals was likely no help.

Wendy simply motioned her away from the backpack with her spear, and Willow complied, crawling a short distance away. Wendy dropped the rabbits on the stump that served as a table, and went over to check the contents of the pack. Ensuring everything was still accounted for, she carried the backpack over to her mat by Wilson and sat down, pulling out Abigail’s flower.

Her mood lightened considerably when she saw that the flower had fully bloomed.

Abigail was ready to come out and play.

 


	8. Magic

Everything hurt. It felt as if something had chewed him up and spat him out, only to beat him with a blunt object a few times and drag him a few hundred meters across pavement.

As his memory slowly returned, he found that his theory wasn’t all too far from the truth.

Wilson groaned as he moved slightly, awakening the wrath of his fresh wounds. A sweet smell hit his senses. He tried to open his eyes, finding that only one would cooperate fully, the left one feeling swollen and heavy, and stinging sharply when he tried to force it open. He moved his aching head up to get a better look at himself.

For some strange reason, he was holding a bouquet of flowers. He frowned in confusion. As he moved a bit more, he felt and saw several other flowers fall from his hair and body. Did he somehow die and come back to life in his own coffin? He tried to mutter a befuddled “what on earth…?” but it came out sounding more like an undead moan. Hopefully his newest theory wasn’t also true.

He heard some shuffling beside him, and he turned his sore neck to get a look, finding someone’s face suddenly uncomfortably close to his own.

“Decided to rejoin the world of the living, did you Wilson?” she exclaimed, her shrill voice piercing into his raging headache like an ice pick.

He closed his eyes and groaned again, letting his head rest back on the mat. Who was this woman? She seemed familiar, like a face from a dream. What did she want? How did she find him? How did he get away from the hounds? Most of all…

“Where’s Wendy?” he asked, his voice sounding and feeling like he had swallowed a bucket of gravel.

The woman smiled. “You don’t waste any time, do you? Don’t worry, the brat is fine.” She paused and looked off behind Wilson. “Oh, don’t you deny it!” she yelled at who Wilson could only assume was Wendy. The thought of her glaring at this woman with those creepy eyes amused him.

Wilson started to sit up, trying his best to ignore the protests from his body. “Who are you?” he asked grumpily. Feeling like had been pulled through a knothole backward did nothing to improve his mood.

“Hey, take it easy,” she said, the haughty tone suddenly disappearing from her voice. She grabbed his shoulder gently and helped him into a sitting position. “I’m Willow. Pleased to meet you Wilson.”

“…Likewise,” he replied warily. He saw something huge move in the corner of his eye and turned to look, but it was gone before he could focus on it. “D-did you see that…?” he asked meekly, pointing into the trees.

Willow looked over her shoulder. “See what?”

Wilson shook his head and put his arm down. “Oh, nothing. I just thought—“

He saw the movement again, only this time it stayed. A strange shadowy creature was crawling among the trees.

“THAT!” he cried, pointing aggressively at the thing. It wasn’t a shadow being cast by anything. No, this was a three-dimensional horror, strolling along on over a dozen wiggly legs.

Willow turned her head sharply, a look of fear now on her face. “What?” she said urgently. “I don’t see anything!”

“It’s right there!” he exclaimed, scooting backward the best he could in his crippled state. “In the trees!”

Willow looked back at him with concern. “Are you alright?”

Wilson was baffled by the question. How could she not see it? The thing was _huge!_ He twisted his head frantically to Wendy, giving her a pleading look, begging her to validate his fears.

She looked casually in the direction indicated and squinted her eyes. “I think I might see something, but I don’t believe it’s actually there. Just a strange dark spot. Nothing to be concerned about, Wilson.”

Willow have her a scorching look. “You refuse talk to me for hours, but _he_ starts jumping at shadows and you become a verbal novelist? Sheesh.”

Wendy scowled at Willow, then turned to Wilson, giving him a much more gentle expression. “Are you alright Wilson? The reaper has been knocking at your door all day.”

Wilson cast another wary glance at the crawling, horrific creature. It was moving away now, and didn’t seem to be hostile. Perhaps it really was just a figment of his imagination. His head hurt enough to make him believe he had a concussion anyway, so honestly it wouldn’t be too far-fetched of an idea.

“I’m…fine…” he said slowly, tearing his gaze away from the fading crawling horror. He turned his attention to his clawed up arms in an attempt to distract himself. “I look like a diseased zebra.” He touched the weird gooey stuff that was spread across his cuts.

“That would be my doing!” Willow piped up proudly.

“What the devil is it?”

“Oh, just a little mixture of mine. Great for healing those nastier wounds.”

“Yes, but… _what is it?”_

She gave him a pouty lip. “If you really must know, it’s just spider gland and ashes. They seem to play really nicely together, don’t you think?”

He looked at his arms again. He did have to admit that the deep gashes and bites looked surprisingly well considering how fresh they were.

“So… what exactly happened? I remember the hounds chasing me, and then tripping… and…” He trailed off, not wanting to voice that horrific experience. “What I’m meaning to say is… how am I still alive?”

Willow dug into a backpack that was lying close by and brought out a tube. “This little guy,” she said, twirling it around. “It’s for blow darts. I used a couple of sleep darts on those hounds to knock them out.”

Wilson was impressed, that was actually an excellent idea. He would have to get her to teach him how to make those sometime, they would surely prove to be invaluable in other situations as well. However, he had a more pressing question in mind.

“How did you find us?”

“I saw smoke. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and where there’s fire, there’s something burning. I wanted to see what was burning.” A corner of her mouth twitched upward. “When I finally arrived, all I saw was a scrawny man being used as a chew toy for a couple of giant monster dogs. I figured I may as well help, since I ain’t seen anyone else on this godforsaken island, and I was craving a little company. Count your lucky stars I got there in time, or you would be dinner.” She smacked her lips to morbidly emphasize her point.

Wilson nodded slowly. “Yes… thank you. I suppose I owe you my life.” He stopped and thought for a moment. “How did I get back here though?”

“Wendy dragged you a little way, but once I caught up with her, I carried you.” She looked down at her red blouse with displeasure. “Effectively ruining my wardrobe.” She gestured to the bloodstains dotting her shirt.

“Apologies… I guess I couldn’t help it.” He looked down at his own cloths, also spattered with blood and dirt. A glance at Wendy showed that she too shared the unfortunate stains, showing up with heavy contrast on her white blouse.

“No worries, we can just wash it out. Likely not all of it, since bloodstains are a pain in the butt to remove, but I’m sure each of us could use a good bath after that fiasco.”

Wilson nodded. They had already done so in the nearby river a time or two. The ocean was warmer, but the salt residue was not ideal. Examining himself and his clothes, he decided it was long past time for another good wash.

He looked over at Wendy again. She was occupied by something in her lap, hidden by the folds of her skirt.

“What have you got there?” he asked, tilting his head toward her. Wendy looked up at him and smiled. He heard a small scoff from Willow. Wendy held up Abigail’s flower. It was fully bloomed, bright pink, and… glowing.

Wilson blinked in surprise. Was he seeing things again? First a living shadow, and now a glowing flower?

“Wilson, your mouth is hanging open again,” Wendy teased. He promptly closed it, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the flower.

“How are you doing that?” he stuttered out.

She looked down the flower. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m doing it. I believe it’s Abigail.” She raised her hands up and the flower lifted off her palms, floating gently.

He almost laughed. Perhaps it was because he was unwell and near hysteria, or maybe because it was a completely impossible concept. A dead person making a flower levitate? Ludicrous!

“R-really, though, how? Some kind of magic trick, surely…” He had loved magic shows as a kid, but merely because it fascinated him that someone could use sleight of hand so deftly as to make it seem like they knew magic. He never believed any of it was truly magical, just trick cards and invisible wires… but… how was Wendy doing it? There was no way to get access to such things on a deserted island!

“No, I don’t think so. At least not by my hands. I’m just as confused as you as to how it works.” Wendy said simply.

“Can I touch it?” Willow’s wonder-filled voice cut in.

Wendy pulled the flower closer to herself and gave Willow a dirty look. “No.”

Willow folded her arms grumpily. “Well, fine. Who is this ‘Abigail’ anyway? Some kind of pet?”

“She was my sister!” Wendy cried indignantly.

Willow looked confused. “Was?”

“Her dearly departed twin sister,” Wilson offered soberly.

“Yeah, and I’m going to find something to bring her back!” Wendy declared, and stood up to walk out of camp.

“Don’t wander too far!” Wilson called after her. “We don’t know if those hounds are still out there!”

He heard a grunt of acknowledgment from Wendy as she disappeared among the trees. He sighed with exhaustion and slumped down a bit, rubbing his forehead.

“How did she die?” Willow asked softly.

Wilson studied her briefly. She seemed somber and serious. “It’s a little vague. She tells me she died back at home after hitting a rock with her head, but she also said that she died right before I found her a week or two ago from being attacked by pigmen. It’s my theory that they took her and ate her.”

“That’s awful!” Willow exclaimed. “I’ve seen the pigmen before, but they seemed so harmless… and they killed that poor girl? I can’t believe it! Poor Wendy must be so sad. I feel like such a terrible person, teasing her so much while she’s still grieving…”

“Honestly, I think she’s just always like that. Give her some time, she’ll open up. She hated me when we first met too.”

Willow gave him a sad smile. “Alright… that makes me feel a little better. Still, how did she do that trick with the flower? Is she magic?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. She must have learned it from her uncle Maxwell. He was a stage magician before… all this.” He waved his hand vaguely at their surroundings.

“Hold up,” Willow interrupted, holding up her palm. “That wouldn’t so happened to be the same Maxwell that…?”

“Indeed, it is.”

“That useless piece of pond scum!” Willow stood up in a fury. “He took his own nieces to this horrid island? Even allowing one of them to get _killed?_ What a heartless little—“

“Yes, that’s exactly what I thought,” Wilson broke in, pulling gently at her skirt, trying to get her to sit back down. “I spoke with him right before the hound attack, and he seems to have no remorse for what he has done.” Wilson couldn’t help but think of that strange expression he saw on Maxwell during his conversation with him. It was likely meaningless, but as a scientist he knew that sometimes it was the smallest details that could make the biggest difference. That expression he saw made Maxwell seem like a completely different person. “At least… on the surface there’s no regret.”

Willow was silent, no doubt fuming about this new information. Wilson decided to change the subject.

“How did you get here Willow? What is your story?”

She looked down at him, and sat down heavily. “How much do you want to know?”

“However much you want to tell me, I suppose. I’m not going anywhere for a while, and a good story would be great for keeping me occupied.” He cast a nervous glance toward the trees where he saw the crawling horror.

“Suit yourself. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, this could get long.”

Wilson shrugged and gestured for her to continue.

“Hmm… I guess since you’re in for the long haul, I’ll just start from the beginning. When I was little, my house burned down. I was a bit too young at the time to really understand what was going on exactly, so I remember not even being scared. My dad rushed into my room in the middle of the night and took me out of bed really fast. Almost too fast for me to grab my teddy bear. The then took me outside by the road and told me to stay. Then he went back inside to get my mother, who I later found out was trying to save my little brother. But… all three of them never came out.

“Again, I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation at the time, so I just sat by the side of the road with my teddy bear like a good girl, watching the flames. Have you ever just sat and watched a fire, Wilson? They can be so pretty. I have never before or since seen such a large fire. Watching the flames was all I really thought of as my house burned to the ground.

“Lots of firemen and other people showed up eventually. Only then did I get scared. I didn’t like strangers. I wanted my mom. They told me they would try to find her, but it was at that moment I could tell something was wrong. They said those words so hollowly, Wilson. They knew there was no hope. They were just trying to keep a scared little girl at bay. That was one of the longest nights of my life.

“The next day I taken to live in an orphanage. They always called me a problem child, and I guess I kind of was sometimes. I was very independent and hotheaded. I would set things on fire just to see the pretty flames. I never intended to hurt anybody, and by most standards I was always very safe and controlled with my fires. They calmed me when the stresses of living in an orphanage became too much to handle. I was bullied a lot for being the weird fire girl with the teddy bear. No one wanted to adopt me. I was just that ‘antisocial kid obsessed with fire.’

“They said it was just a phase, that my interest in fire was a coping mechanism for what I witnessed. I suppose that was sort of true, but I could never deny that the most relaxing thing was sitting and watching a crackling fire. My dream was to be adopted by a family that liked to go camping, so we could sit around campfire, eat food that didn’t taste like the grime the orphanage served, and just be happy with a family again.

“However, that never happened. I was stuck being an orphan. Sometimes I was passed among foster parents who often saw me as a sad, lost cause. I did join the Girl Scouts when I was old enough, trying to find some purpose in life. Through a lot of hard work and determination, I was even able to get all of the badges. The camping trips were the best, especially roasting food around a campfire. I was still considered the weird one though, and I struggled with the social aspect of being Girl Scout.

“As I grew older, I found out that some people didn’t like me for my skin color alone. Can you believe that? My grandparents were from Italy or Spain or somewhere like that, so everyone in my family was all olive-skinned. Just because I was a few shades darker than some of these prejudiced ‘white’ adults, I was suddenly less of a person. At least I wasn’t any darker, especially black, as horrible as that is to say. Because of that I occasionally had people who didn’t hate me. I think that’s so dumb, hating people for a stupid _color._ Some of the nicest people I’ve ever met were the ‘darker’ folk. At least they never saw a person for their skin tone.”

Willow shook her head. “Sorry, I’m getting off track. I just get so frustrated by that sometimes.”

“It’s no problem,” Wilson assured. “I think olive suits you. You’re very pretty.”

Willow looked like she was holding back a blush. She cleared her throat and quickly started up her story again. “Anyway, long story short, I was never adopted, and I was eventually kicked out of the orphanage when I became too old.

“The next few years were… troublesome, to say the least. Hopping from town to town, earning a bit of money here and there to get food and keep myself alive, and stealing the rest of what I needed after honest labor didn’t cut it. I had hardly anything, just an old bag to carry my few possessions, one of which of course being my raggedy old teddy bear, Bernie. I often said in those days that he was my only friend.

“Eventually I was able to land a steady job, and even chip in for the rent of an apartment with a few other girls. They didn’t like me either. They didn’t trust me, so I often just kept to myself. Everything was just so much of a struggle, I wanted so badly just to get away from it all, perhaps travel the world. Be comfortable, for once. Have a nice house to come home to, to not have to worry about money or food. To just live carefree, and not have people hate me for my… eccentricities. That seemed so far off, if not impossible. What is there in the world for an orphan who was never wanted? Not much, I’ll tell you, but I made do, and I was actually doing relatively decent until _he_ showed up.

“I was just walking home after a long day’s work when a guy from an alley caught my attention. ‘Say pal,’ he said. ‘Looks like you could use some help.’

“Naturally, I was suspicious, and elected to just ignore him and keep walking. That didn’t stop him.

“’Wouldn’t you like to just get away from here? Travel to new, exotic places and not have to worry about irksome roommates and that pesky job?’ I remember his voice being so soothing. One of the kindest voices I had heard in years. I stopped. He had my interest. He seemed so familiar somehow too…

“’Ahh, so you do,’ he continued. ‘Well, I could arrange a way for that to happen.’ He then did some kind of magic trick where a blue fire appeared in his hand. It was then that I recognized him. He was this ’Amazing Maxwell’ that I had seen on posters long ago. All the kids in the orphanage wanted to see him. We heard he was one of the best magicians who ever lived, and some kids were lucky enough to earn their pennies to go see one of his performances. Oh, the stories they told when they returned… wondrous tricks and glorious feats of magic. Made the rest of us so jealous.

“So it was surprising to see this man here in an alley, looking almost the same as he did in those old posters, costume and all. And he was offering me a way out of this dismal lifestyle.

“I was mesmerized by his magic fire. The colors in it were simply beautiful. He extinguished the fire suddenly, and looked at me straight in the eye. ‘Would you like that?’ he pressed. I was speechless. Finally, my dream had come true! I was so blinded by my excitement that I didn’t even stop to think that anything bad could come of this. I nodded in agreement.

“He smiled. ‘Shake to seal the deal,’ he said, holding out his hand. I didn’t hesitate for one moment. I shook his hand.

“Just about as fast, I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. His hand burned my skin… well, burn isn’t quite the right word. It was cold. It was a horrible, icy burn, unlike anything I had ever experienced. A strange darkness seemed to pass from his hand to mine, spreading through my whole body and making my head feel muddled.

“His figure began to sway in and out of reality, with shadows swirling around him. I thought I had been poisoned somehow, that my eyes were playing tricks on me. I tried to keep myself standing by leaning against a wall, but I grew so weak that I couldn’t even do that anymore. The last thing I remember is him standing over me, grinning, as my consciousness faded.

“When I finally came to, I was stuck on this island. Because of my Girl Scout training and urban survival skills, I was able to get by decently okay. Finding a way of life in the wilderness is easy in comparison to living on the streets. There’s food everywhere, and there is no one around to get after you for taking it. If you’re smart, there is shelter and other necessities everywhere. So that’s just what I’ve been doing the past month: surviving. I daresay thriving compared to some of my previous struggles. So technically, Maxwell didn’t lie. He did, in a way, help me get to a better place.”

Willow brushed off her skirt and leaned back on her arms, looking quite pleased with herself. “And that’s my story.”

Wilson sat in silence, mulling over this new information. He was about to respond when he heard a stick snap behind him.

Both he and Willow turned toward the sound and found Wendy standing there with a rabbit hanging by its horns in her hand. Several thoughts went through Wilson’s mind, few of which, in retrospect, were even remotely relevant. Another coping mechanism his brain was coming up with? His first line of thought how strange it was that a hare has horns. It was like a real-life version of the taxidermy joke of ‘Jackalopes.’ The rabbit, like many other creatures on the island Wilson had found, had a disturbing lack of pupils in its eyes too. He had at this point accepted that would never be able to figure out the strange creatures on this island. His second thought was on how Wendy was able to even hold a live rabbit. Whenever Wilson tried it, the cursed rodent would promptly turn and attack him. He had cuts all over his hands from trying to hold those stupid rabbits. Yet they hardly ever seemed to mind Wendy touching them, even if it was as heartlessly as being held by their horns. Wilson swallowed his rising jealousy, even it it was cruel.

“Wendy?” he asked. “Why another rabbit? We already have more than enough for dinner.” He motioned toward the stump that was covered in carcasses, trying to ignore the pain that shot up his arm as he did so.

Wendy held up a finger to tell him to wait, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Willow blow the bangs out of her face in exasperation.

Wendy walked to a bare patch of ground and placed down the floating flower. Willow looked like she was going to say something about it, but Wilson touched her arm and gave her a pointed look, halting her words. He wanted to see what Wendy was up to. She sure seemed uncharacteristically cheerful. Perhaps she had somehow domesticated that rabbit and she was excited to have a pet? It was indeed a comparatively cute rabbit. She might have even taught it tricks, for all he knew. Maybe that’s what this performance was all about.

Wendy watched the glowing flower for a moment and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She opened them once more and lifted the rabbit to eye level. It cowered under her icy blue gaze. The look she gave it made a shiver travel down Wilson’s spine. She suddenly looked… dangerous.

Wendy brought up her other hand to the hare, holding it by the base of the shoulders. With a practiced, fluid movement she snapped its neck, and a slight scream echoed through the clearing. Wilson realized that the scream had emanated from Willow, whose hands had flown up to her mouth in surprise.

Next it was Wilson’s turn to cry out, for from the pulsating petals of the flower erupted a bright flash of light. When Wilson’s vision had cleared, what he saw made his jaw drop.

There were now two Wendys.

 


	9. Sanity

Wilson was aware that his mouth was hanging open, but this time he didn’t bother closing it. Before him was an exact copy of Wendy. Well… not quite.

The new one had soulless, white eyes, and seemed to float a few inches above the ground. He noted with dumb fascination that she had a bluish-white, faded look, and her form wisped in and out of visibility, especially at her extremities. A slight glow completed the phantasmal effect.

“What in the…!” he cried, trying to back away, but only aggravating his shredded limbs into throes of agony.

He saw Wendy quickly approach him, kneeling down and grabbing his arms, forcing him to stop flailing. “Wilson, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!” she yelled at him.

He slowly overcame his panic and looked Wendy straight in the eyes. It didn’t serve to calm him any, for she too looked like a vision of death itself. Unlike a few minutes ago when she looked bright and happy, now her eyes were sunken in and ringed with dark circles, not unlike his own. Her skin was deathly pale, nearly bone white. The combination made her face resemble that of a skull; terrifying and evil.

“What is that? What’s going on?” he cried.

Wendy looked behind her at the ghost, who hovered a polite distance away. She looked back at Wilson. “That’s my twin sister, Abigail,” she said. “Don’t be so rude!”

He pulled his arm away from her. “Are you mad? I thought she was dead! Eaten by pig men!” He knew he was probably being a bit tactless and insensitive if this really _was_ Abigail, but he did _not_ like getting spooked.

“No, she was dead before then, remember? The pigs just wore away at her material manifestation, and she had to retreat back to her flower to rest and heal.”

“None of this makes any sense! Ghosts don’t exist! What’s the trick? How are you doing this? This isn’t funny!” he exclaimed angrily.

Wendy looked defeated. She was opening her mouth to say something when another voice piped up.

“Wilson,” the wonder-filled voice said. “I don’t think this is a trick.”

Wilson turned to see Willow looking at Abigail’s apparition. The ghost stood there shyly, looking down and wringing her nearly transparent hands nervously.

“I think this is the actual ghost of Wendy’s sister,” Willow continued. “Think about it. What else could it be? We can’t all be hallucinating the same thing. If it were a trick, where on this island would Wendy even begin to get the kind of supplies needed to do such an intricate display? No, I’m fairly certain this is the real deal.”

Abigail looked up at Willow with appreciation, and seemed to say something, but the speech was distorted, with a strange echoing quality to it. It was like the sound of a distant voice carried away by the wind. The effect made her words indecipherable. Except to Wendy, apparently.

“She says ‘thank you,’” Wendy translated.

Willow grinned largely. “Why, you are very welcome! You are a much nicer ghost than all the ones I hear about in stories. You know, the ones that go about breaking dishes and scaring people.”

Wilson couldn’t believe his ears. The ‘ghost’ had scared _him!_ This couldn’t possibly be real! “I must have hit my head harder than I thought…” he muttered, rubbing his aching temples. He thought his head hurt a few minutes ago, but it had now developed into the beginning stages of a raging migraine.

“Wilson, you don’t look so good. Are you okay?” Willow asked, approaching him. Wendy got up and returned to Abigail’s side. She tried to hold Abigail’s hand, but their hands passed right through each other. So the two just held their hands in the same spot, giving the illusion that they were touching, and they walked to the edge of camp to sit and talk.

“I…I don’t know,” Wilson replied. “Just… so much has happened today, and I’m really not feeling well.”

“Here, let’s see if a warm dinner can get you feeling a little better.” Willow quickly got a large fire going, and prepared the rabbits for cooking. She even went so far as to season the meat with some nearby plants and some salt she had extracted from the ocean’s water. Wilson had to admit that she was indeed quite capable. She explained on multiple occasions that all her knowledge came from either being a girl scout or an orphan. She knew how to take care of herself.

Wilson sat in silence the whole time, watching Willow cook. Every now and then he would take a peek at Wendy and Abigail. The two couldn’t have been happier. They talked and laughed and enjoyed each other’s company. Though Wilson couldn’t understand Abigail’s speech, it seemed Wendy could, but even then Wendy was doing most of the talking. Abigail looked to be a socialite who loved to talk, but Wendy was so excited to tell Abigail about all her adventures she had had with Wilson the past couple of weeks that she didn’t really give Abigail much of a chance to speak. Abigail seemed content with this though, happy to let her sister have the spotlight this time around. Wilson had never seen Wendy so chatty and happy, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this the way those two were before… all this.

The thought brought him back to Maxwell’s promise, that if Wilson found him, everything would go back to the way things were. Perhaps Wendy could get Abigail back for real, instead of this sad shadow of her.

As he relaxed a bit, Wilson began to notice some other things about the twins, the most amusing being the flowers they wore in their hair. He remembered Wendy mentioning that she wore her flower on the same side as her sister, and he couldn’t help but smile with amusement that she had made the classic mirrored mistake, and had actually put her flower on the opposite side. He also noted that Abigail favored yellow, since her own skirt and other accessories were all that color, while Wendy’s same clothing was pink. Twins, but obviously not the same.

Wilson had accepted that Abigail was really there by now, but by what means he couldn’t figure out. His mind went in circles trying to figure something out, but to no avail. His best theory was that something on this island allowed for the strange manifestation. There were plenty of other strange anomalies on the island, like giant creatures, animals with pupil-less white eyes, and disgusting purple meat. It was a strange phenomenon that he would love to discover and study, and perhaps even take advantage of. He too had a loved one he would want to see again, even if it was a ghostly apparition. He suddenly didn’t feel so confused or angry about Abigail. He understood Wendy’s motives, and was even a bit jealous of her luckiness.

They all settled down for dinner when Willow had announced that her “glorious creation was complete.” They ate a large meal as the sun slipped below the horizon. It had to be the tastiest thing Wilson had eaten since he arrived on the island.

“Wow,” he exclaimed through a mouthful of food, ignoring table etiquette in his surprise. “This is delicious!”

Willow gave him a sly look. “Just throw in a woman’s touch, and even a stringy old rabbit can be made into a proper meal!” She beamed proudly and took a large, messy bite.

Abigail sat politely by Wendy as she dug into her own food. Though they were twins, they seemed to have very different personalities. Wendy was more brash, quiet, and grumpy, while Abigail was on the more delicate yet outgoing side. They loved each other very much, that much was obvious. They both seemed so happy in each other’s company.

The full meal definitely made Wilson feel a lot better. Willow insisted that before bed he allow her to clean his wounds properly. They were very sore, and he sure didn’t want anyone poking around in them. However, after a few well-worded threats from Willow, he finally gave in. It took a while to get all the wounds cleaned and bandaged, and by the end of it Wilson was exhausted. Wendy had already gone to sleep, and Abigail hovered about camp like a sentry. It was comforting knowing that there was an extra pair of tireless eyes on the lookout.

He and Willow sat and watched the fire in silence for a while. Wilson’s eyes were drooping heavily, and he was just about to topple over when he heard a strange noise that yanked him back to alertness.

He snapped his head around, searching for the sound. He noticed Willow was doing the same.

“What was that?” he asked in an urgent whisper.

“I don’t know…” she said back, her eyes wandering about camp warily.

The noise sounded again. It was something along the lines of a chime. It picked up until it was almost a steady beat, and sounded like a distorted music box.

Then they saw it. A strange, shadowy creature resembling a hand. It seemed to crawl along the ground, and each time one of its fingers touched the ground a dissonant note would sound off. Wilson couldn’t quite tell if it was merely a flat shadow or a three dimensional being, it had such a strange effect on his mind.

Wilson’s eyes bugged out in terror, and he began to scramble backward, away from the shadowy hand that was approaching him. “No!” he cried out. “No, you’re not taking me again!” He could feel the panic flooding his veins with adrenaline, and his eyes started to water from terror. Last time he saw shadow hands, they grabbed him and stole him away to this cursed island. He didn’t want to know where they would take him if they were to kidnap him once more.

As the hand approached, he felt a strange buzzing in his head, putting a strange, horrible pressure on his brain. He felt dizzy with dread. He felt something grab his shoulders and begin pulling at him. He blindly struggled away from it, flailing his arms trying to hit it away. Something grabbed his wrists.

“No!” he was nearly sobbing. “Please! No!”

He was slapped in the face.

Wilson sat in stunned silence for a moment until he noticed someone shouting at him.

“Wilson! Stop fighting me! What has gotten in to you? Wilson!” Willow’s voice sounded panicked.

Wilson blinked his eyes a few times, and he turned to see Willow’s worried face. “The shadow hands!” he exclaimed, whipping his head back to where he had torn up the grass in his frantic escape. The hand was gone. “But…but where…?” he sputtered, still trembling from terror.

“It fled back into the dark when you kicked it,” Willow explained. Wendy was awake now, looking at the two with concern. Abigail hovered around her protectively. Wilson tried to force his racing heart to slow, he was somewhat embarrassed that he had overreacted so much. A blind panic wouldn’t have saved him. Somehow he was lucky enough to evade being spirited away by the hand once more.

The strange ‘music’ began again. Everyone looked toward the source, and saw the hand come crawling back out of the shadows.

“Everybody, back away from it!” Willow commanded, hoisting Wilson to his feet, ignoring his grunts of pain. They stood on the far side of the fire from the hand, watching it, ready for action should it get too close. It extended from the darkness on an arm-like appendage. What horror it was attached to Wilson didn’t even want to try and fathom.

It crawled over to the fire pit and seemed to stop and consider it. It was completely odd and unnatural to see a shadow being thrown on the ground without anything casting it, and just the thought gave Wilson the willies. The hand then opened wide like a hungry mouth and bit at the fire.

The fire suddenly died down, and the hand retreated backward disturbingly quickly. Everyone stood and stared at the dampened fire. It didn’t seem like the hand had stolen any wood, it looked more like it had taken away its life. The logs had burned down to ash in a second.

“My _fire!”_ Willow exclaimed, leaving Wendy to hold Wilson upright on her own as she rushed over to the fire. She threw a fresh log on it, stirring up the dying coals with a stick she used as a fire poker. Willow looked furious.

“Heh, veritable firebug, that one is,” Wilson said shakily under his breath so Willow couldn’t hear, and smiled slightly. Wendy gave him an odd look. His nerves were rattled, and he was having a hard time standing. Wendy had just begun to lead him back to his sleeping mat when they heard the noise again.

Wilson involuntarily tensed up, and had half a mind to run off, but Wendy’s firm grip on his waistcoat held him in place.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Willow yelled, and rushed over to the creeping hand. She stomped on it with all her might, and it retreated backward quickly, its fingers making a musical racket as it fled. She chased it all the way into the dark, until neither he nor Wendy could see her.

“Willow—come back!” Wilson cried, a new kind of horror filling him. He knew what was out there. Or rather, he wish he knew. One thing was for sure, she would never survive out there without a light!

He heard muffled cursing interlaced with frantic music box tittering and stomping, until he heard a distorted _bwong_ and all the noises stopped.

“Willow!” he shouted again.

She suddenly came waltzing back into camp, straightening her blouse with her face upturned in grumpy pride. “That should teach him,” she growled.

She gruffly came over to help Wendy settle Wilson back down on his grass mat, then went back to tending her fire. Wendy and Wilson exchanged confused glances, and each just shrugged. The crisis was adverted, and it seemed that Willow was in no mood to go to sleep with her fire in danger.

“Do you want to just… take a watch or something then, Willow?” Wilson suggested, feeling light-headed. Abigail could do the whole night herself, Wendy had assured earlier, stating that she was very good at it, but it seemed like Willow could really use a few quiet moments to herself, too. Though Wilson knew Willow would refuse to acknowledge it if asked, she was just about as worn out as the rest of them.

So, on silent agreement, Wilson and Wendy left Willow and Abigail to keep watch, and laid down to rest.

 

* * *

 

Willow stayed up a quite a while after Wilson and Wendy had fallen asleep. Abigail hovered about camp keeping watch, occasionally straying into the darkness to check for any looming monsters. The slight light she emitted was somewhat comforting.

Wendy slept soundly and deeply, a small smile on her lips that accentuated the baby fat on her face, making her look a lot younger than ten. She had looked pretty ghastly after the manifestation of Abigail and had complained of a bad headache a time or two, but a good meal and some sleep seemed to have effectively reversed the worst of it.

Wilson on the other hand wasn’t doing as well. He slept restlessly. Willow went over to check on him, and on a hunch, checked his temperature. He has a slight fever. Not too surprising considering how torn up he was. It was a miracle he wasn’t in full on septic shock or something from all his wounds, from animals no less. Being scared out of his wits by those shadow hands certainly did him no good.

Willow wondered briefly why he was so scared of them, and what he meant by _‘you’re not taking me again!’_ Was that how he ended up on this island? She sure hoped those things weren’t on the mainland, kidnapping people to this place. The pressure she felt in her head when she was attacking that one was horrible, and she felt in her feet the same terrible cold burning she had felt when she shook Maxwell’s hand in that alleyway, albeit slightly reduced because she was wearing shoes. It was if her very flesh was being corrupted by some kind of alien evil.

Wilson moaned slightly, shifting uncomfortably. Willow quietly sat next to him and brushed some of his disheveled hair out of his face and began to gently run her fingers across his scalp. She did this a lot back at the orphanage to some of the younger kids when they were sick to comfort them. Long ago, her mother did it to her too when she wasn’t feeling well, and she remembered it always feeling so relaxing. As she ran her fingers through Wilson’s hair, he visibly relaxed. She smiled slightly. The tried and true motherly touch works its charm once more.

She sat there comforting Wilson until he no longer grimaced and twitched in his sleep. Willow noted with amusement that, though he was obviously much older than she, he seemed more like a child than even Wendy sometimes. _Fear and pain can do that to a person,_ she thought sadly. She too grew tired eventually, and once assuring that Wilson was warm and comfortable, she left him. She bedded down in a patch of soft grass not far from the fire and went to sleep.

 


	10. Trip of a Lifetime

 

Willow awoke before the others. She could already tell that the day would be a real scorcher, and promptly retrieved her grass hat from her pack. She got the fire going again and fried up some leftover food. Abigail floated about camp, exchanging an occasional smile with Willow.

_She’s a cute girl,_ Willow thought. Shame such a bright little child had to be torn so violently from the world. Unlike Wendy, Abigail actually liked Willow, which made her feel a little better about herself. She was used to hate, so when she got a smile it really meant the world to her.

Not long after, Wendy woke up. Though still haggard, she still looked oceans better than she had yesterday evening.

“Hey Wendy,” Willow began. “Would you like to help me with something today?”

Wendy eyed her suspiciously as Abigail swirled around her in greeting.

“I know where we can get some manure that would be a great fertilizer for some gardens. Since we may be here for a while, I figured it might be wise to get a renewable food supply going.”

Abigail seemed to get quite excited about this, and she spoke something in her strange, distorted voice to Wendy. Whatever it was seemed to steer Wendy away from the stubbornness she looked to be harboring.

Wendy turned her attention back to Willow after Abigail had finished. “Okay,” she said simply.

“Alright! Grab a hat and spear, and follow me. I’ll bet Wilson will sleep into the afternoon in his condition, so we could be back before he wakes up if we’re quick. I already have some baskets out there since I was going to do this before I saw Wilson’s signal fire.” She turned to face the direction they were to head, and threw her fist in the air enthusiastically. “Come, let us go!” She heard a giggle from Abigail and a groan from Wendy.

They walked for almost an hour before arriving in a large clearing with tall, yellow grass. Though she had seen them before, Willow was still stupefied by the creatures that inhabited this area.

She had lovingly nicknamed them beefalo. Though they bore little resemblance to actual beefalo—a mix between domestic cattle and American bison—they were shaped vaguely like buffalo, with long, shaggy hair and humped backs. She once found a recently killed one (likely by the work of hounds or some other beast), and had taken and eaten some of the meat, which had tasted shockingly similar to beef. Thus the name ‘beefalo.’

“Here we are!” Willow announced, though the twins obviously both realized that this was their destination. Willow scanned the area until she found where she had stashed the two woven baskets. She retrieved them along with a couple of large, flat rocks that they would use as shovels.

“It won’t be pretty but… let’s do this,” she said, handing Wendy a rock and a basket. It was hot, stinky work, but with two people the baskets filled quite quickly. The beefalo looked on, lowing at them if they got too close, but never running away. It seemed they were either very trusting, or were used to not having anything to fear. It would likely take a whole pack of hounds to take on just one of these huge beasts, and there were over a dozen of them in this herd alone. Those big horns didn’t evolve on a creature that didn’t have something to gore, and it seemed that a single hit from one of them could definitely do some serious damage, even to one of those burly hounds.

Willow hummed as she worked, much to Abigail’s delight. She tried to sing along at times, her voice sounding like a spooky wind. Creepy, but cute. Willow wished Wendy wasn’t so stubborn and would join in, but even with Abigail beckoning her she still refused. _She’ll loosen up eventually,_ Willow decided. They were just finishing up when they heard a new voice on the wind.

“Is other people!” the thundering words boomed.

The girls swung around in sync to see the source of the sound. There stood a monstrous man, unnervingly tall and muscle-bound.

“Hello, other people!” he cried, approaching him with his hands held wide and high as if to try and get their attention, as if he honestly could be missed.

Wendy grabbed her spear and pointed it at the man, and Abigail flew to her side protectively.

What happened next was something you definitely don’t see every day. The giant released an uncharacteristically high-pitched squeal of terror, and ran screaming into the trees. They heard the muffled crashes of branches being run into and broken, followed by a _thump_ and yet another voice crying, “Get OFF me you big, lumbering oaf!”

Willow and Wendy exchanged confused glances.

Willow gripped the black-tipped spear she had borrowed from Wilson, and approached the trees. She followed the path of destruction he had left until she found the large man bent over an older lady, helping her up and brushing the leaf litter off her, muttering apologies.

“What on earth got you in such a fuss, lad?” the lady exclaimed, her squinty eyes glaring at him from behind rectangular glasses. “You’re lucky you didn’t break my back!”

“Ghost!” the man sputtered. He sounded like he was about to start crying. “There was ghost!”

“Preposterous! Wolfgang, you know ghosts don’t exist.”

“But I saw one! Over there!” He pointed over at Willow, only then noticing her standing there.

The old lady looked over at her in surprise. “Why, that’s no ghost, you lout! That’s a lady!” Wolfgang only whimpered in reply. She slowly approached Willow. “Sorry about that young lady, I’m afraid Wolfgang here can be a bit jumpy at times. I’m Miss Wickerbottom. What would your name be?”

“…Willow,” she replied. This old woman unnerved her. She seemed shockingly similar to the lady that ran the orphanage. Strict, gruff, and way too old fashioned.

“Say, you wouldn’t have a place to rest nearby, would you miss Willow? My old bones aren’t the best for all this wilderness tomfoolery, and I would appreciate a comfortable place to sit.”

“Uhh… yeah, we’ve got a camp not too awfully far from here. I suppose you’re welcome to join us, though technically I too am a visitor there so I can’t guarantee a permanent place to stay.”

“No worries, even a place where we can tarry for a moment would be exquisite.”

Willow looked up at the giant, Wolfgang, and got an idea. “How about this. I’ll lead you two to camp if you carry our loot. How does that sound big guy?” However, Wolfgang was too busy looking around frantically to acknowledge Willow’s proposal.

“I suppose that would be reasonable,” Wickerbottom offered. “What needs to be carried?”

“It’s back over here.” She began to lead them to Wendy. “Also, I couldn’t help but notice that he was… scared of ghosts,” Willow whispered to Wickerbottom. “How much of a problem would it be if we… uh… _had_ one?”

  
“Bah, there’s no such thing, child! No need to worry about it.”

“I’m serious.”

Wickerbottom gave her a strange look. “Now isn’t that a childish thing to say? I would expect it from Wolfgang, but not from an obviously intelligent woman such as yourself.”

“I swear, it’s true! You’ll see for yourself in a moment,” she replied grumpily.

They got back to the savannah-esque clearing where Wendy was sitting down in the shade of a tree, playing with a flower. Abigail sat next to her, watching.

“I see no ghost. Just two adorable young girls!” Wickerbottom seemed far too delighted to see them. She apparently really liked kids.

“Well, you’re in for a surprise,” Willow muttered under her breath as Wickerbottom walked over to the twins. Though she did have to admit that a trick of the light was making Abigail look more tangible than usual.

“There! There ghost!” Wolfgang cried, pointing at the girls. The twins looked at each other, and both did a mischievous smile. Abigail suddenly swooped up into the air and made a terrifying noise that scared even Willow. Wolfgang screamed and dove for cover behind a fallen log, his rear end still exposed. Wickerbottom jumped and clutched at her heart.

“I say, what a trick that was! Now, turn off your silly little gizmo there, you’ve had your fun.”

Abigail giggled and floated back down to Wendy, who was standing at this point. She was laughing to.

“Abigail is no toy. She’s my sister!” Abigail nodded and floated around Wendy a couple times, leaving behind ghostly wisps as she went.

“Oh dear me, that really isn’t a trick, is it?”

“No siree, it ain’t!” Willow exclaimed, proud of little Abigail for putting on such an impressive display.

Wickerbottom gave Willow a dirty look. One that said, _if I had a ruler right now, I would whack your fingers with it._ “’Ain’t’ isn’t a word miss Willow.”

Willow rolled her eyes. She was one of _those_ old ladies. “Well sor-ry,” Willow drawled as sarcastically as she could muster. “Come on, I want to get back to camp before it gets too hot to travel.”

Wickerbottom scowled at Willow’s reaction, but elected to ignore it for now. “Agreed. Wolfgang, come along dear. Help these nice young ladies carry their… er… oh dear, what _is_ that?”

“Manure,” Wendy explained bluntly.

“Oh my, whatever for?”

“Gardens.”

“I see…” She looked over at Wolfgang, who was peering over the log at Abigail. “Wolfgang, get over here and pick these up! We don’t have all day!” Wickerbottom commanded, snapping her fingers a couple times.

Wolfgang was obviously more scared of the old lady’s wrath than the ghost, since he slowly emerged from the log and approached the group, staying as far away from Abigail as possible. She was kind enough to keep her distance.

“Now if you would, carry these for us? Surely someone as _mighty_ as you should have no problem doing so.” She emphasized the word ‘mighty’ in such a way that Wolfgang instantly brightened up, and he puffed out his chest slightly.

He nodded and hefted the baskets up to his shoulders like they didn’t weigh a thing, and the group began their trek back to camp. With Wolfgang carrying the heavy baskets, their trip was surprisingly short and they made it back before Wilson had even woken up, as Willow had predicted. However, he began to stir once the noise from the large group entered the area.

“What… what’s going on?” Wilson asked blearily.

“We’ve got some new guests Wilson!” Willow exclaimed.

“…So we do,” he mumbled, gazing up at Wolfgang’s humongous form with bafflement.

They made their introductions and settled down in the shade to tell their stories and avoid the afternoon heat.

Wilson, Willow, and Wendy all told their tales on how they had come to the island, followed by Wickerbottom.

“My own motive wasn’t too unlike Mr. Higgsbury’s,” she began. “I was on a quest for knowledge. I was a librarian as well as an author you see, so any opportunity I could find new, interesting things to write about was superb. I was having a bit of writer’s block at the time. I couldn’t find a good topic for my newest book, and I was growing desperate.

“A man in a fancy suit, who we now know to be Maxwell, came to me one day and told me of a scientist who created a magnificent machine, and he was looking for someone to help document it. This immediately gained my interest, and after a bit of convincing, I agreed to go with him to see this grand invention.

“The place was on the outskirts of a small, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town not too awfully far from my own, so I promptly traveled to it. Strange place it was, I thought at the time. Odd that someone would stage a laboratory out in a decrepit old cabin clear out in the woods like that.” She gave a sly, knowing look to Wilson, who blushed and refused to make eye contact with anybody.

“I knocked on the door multiple times, but nobody answered, of course. I was just going to come back later, but Maxwell told me that I could just walk in, assuring me that the owner wouldn’t mind. I was suspicious of his claims due to all the ‘keep out’ signs--” another blush from Wilson, “—but Maxwell wouldn’t let me leave. He insisted that it was perfectly fine, that the scientist was probably working on something and didn’t hear the summons. So we entered and made out way up to the top floor where I found the strange contraption.

“It was nothing like what I had expected it to be. It didn’t look like something that would really do anything, it was just a rickety chunk of scrap metal and wood. I assumed that whoever would make such a thing was a madman. A theory that has proven to be at least somewhat true,” she teased.

“Maxwell told me to try out the machine to see what it does. The whole time I was with him he was very vague on the subject of what it does, so naturally I was both curious and suspicious. He showed me the lever to turn it on. I really wanted to try it out, but I was terribly nervous. I didn’t know this man, Maxwell. Would he be one to trick me? What would he gain from doing so to an old lady? I have nothing of worth, so killing me to rob me of my belongings would be counterproductive and foolish. I also didn’t know this mysterious scientist. How would he react to a couple of people walking into his home and toying with his inventions? What did this particular contraption even do, and was it dangerous at all?

“In the end, curiosity killed this cat. Upon further promptings and reassurances from Maxwell, I pulled the lever. Oh Wilson, I know it’s not entirely your fault, but why would you build such a terrible thing? I don’t think I had ever been that scared before in my life. Long story short, I ended up here on this island a few days ago. Soon after I found Wolfgang, quickly followed by all of you. That’s how I got here.” Wickerbottom sighed and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear.

“Now, tell the nice people here your story, Wolfgang,” Wickerbottom said. Wolfgang had been keeping a close eye on Abigail throughout the others' stories, and he cast one last uneasy glance at her before beginning. Though his sentences were simple, but he made up for it more than enough by his large motions and actions as he told his tale.

“I was strongman in circus. The mightiest for miles around! But maybe not in whole world, so I wanted to become the most mightiest. Magic man come tell Wolfgang he could make him mightiest. I was very excited. Agreed and shook his hand. Everything went black, and I was very very scared. Woke up on island! Monsters everywhere, even more scary! But I find Wickerbottom who knows how to make light and scare away monsters. That is the end.”

“Short and sweet, I like it.” Willow nodded in approval at Wolfgang’s story. He gave a huge smile in return, his curled mustache seeming to grin along.

Once they had all completed their stories and small talk, the worst of the afternoon was gone. They split up duties and worked on expanding the camp. Garden plots were made and planted, sleeping mats were woven, fish and rabbits caught, wood chopped, spiders killed, and more. Before nightfall they each took a turn to bathe and wash their clothes in the river. By the time the sun went down, the camp looked almost like a proper living place.

Late that night, they sat by the fire Willow had prepared. She had become the unofficial fire starter, since she was an expert at making a better, brighter fires out of less wood. She sat and watched the flames as Wolfgang and Wendy slept, and listened to Wickerbottom and Wilson talk.

“Have you noticed the strange eyes on all the animals?” Wickerbottom asked.

“Yes, I have,” Wilson replied. “I try not to think too much about it, it kind of creeps me out. I’ve just chalked it up to be some sort of evolutionary anomaly.”

“Ah, but what if it isn’t? What if there’s some kind of disease, a corruption if you will, that does such a thing? It’s far too strange for all of them to just have white eyes. They’re all still similar enough to mainland creatures that I doubt that they have all gone through convergent evolution like that. Everything from arachnids to mammals all have the same aberration, so it’s highly likely there is some other source.”

“Indeed, that is a good hypothesis… I wonder how they are able to see without pupils? They must have some curious retinal abnormality that reflects white light in such a way that it gives the illusion of not having pupils. I wish I had the proper equipment to study this more fully! What purpose does it serve?” Then a thought struck Wilson. “Wait, I do know of one creature on this island that still has pupils. The pigmen. Maybe only sentient beings retain their pupils? If that’s so, perhaps that’s why none of us have caught whatever ‘disease’—if there is one—that turns the eyes white.”

“No, I don’t think so. Wolfgang and I saw these large, one-eyed birds that very obviously had pupils. They were dumb as bricks, too.”

“What about the animals that have that strange purple meat and black blood? I would bet that the same thing that’s corrupting the eyes may have something to do with that.”

“Not to mention the fact that certain stuff seems to do that strange thing to your head when you’re near them. Those ugly, stinking flowers that I found the other day, for example. I felt like my head was full of angry wasps, buzzing about and making my head hurt.”

“Yes!” Wilson exclaimed, pointing enthusiastically. “We saw this strange shadow creature last night that did the same thing! It was like something was clawing at my mind. Now that I think about it, when I was attacked by those huge hounds, they seemed to have the same effect. Anytime I touched them, the contact would feel like my flesh was burning… but… cold. Not quite like sticking your hand into snow or something for too long. No, it felt like it was… for lack of a better word, _corrupting_ my very cells, invading them with some horrible presence.”

_Like Maxwell’s touch…_ Willow thought, still listening to the two chatter.

Wilson looked over to where his spear was leaned against a tree. The tip still had the black sooty smudge on it. “I believe Maxwell may be affected by this corruption.” He quickly explained how Maxwell’s blood had dripped across the spearhead, turning it to black wherever it touched. His blood had been the unnaturally dark color as some of the monsters on the island.

“Curious indeed…” Wickerbottom mused. “There must be a lot more to this island than meets the eye. It seems not all things are corrupted equally, such as the rabbits we ate for dinner. The only symptom they show are the white eyes, but their flesh is perfectly edible, and their blood is red. I wonder what determines how they are affected.”

“This whole island is a mystery. I hope that someday I can get the proper chance to study it.”

“Likewise, Mr. Higgsbury. I could write a whole series of books on all the flora and fauna here! After I publish a journal on my experiences, of course. It might be too early to hope for too much, but I can’t wait to get back home to my typewriter and begin. I already know how I would start my first book…”

Wilson and Wickerbottom excitedly continued their discussion on what they planned to do after they got off the island, but Willow’s attention drifted away from the conversation. What would _she_ do if she were to escape this place? She didn’t really have much to go back to. No family to welcome her home. Her job had probably already replaced her, and her landlord had likely considered her long gone. She would basically have to start over from scratch, this time not even with her pack and teddy bear. Her eyes got a bit watery thinking of how they likely had thrown away all of her stuff, including her beloved bear. She would surely never see him again.

Would going back even be worth it? Sure, living in the wilderness was a chore, but at least she _had_ something here. A place to sleep, food, and even a few people she dare call friends.

Did she really want to leave?

 

 


	11. A Storm is Brewing

Wilson sighed dramatically. Willow refused to let him leave camp due to his injuries, even though they were healing spectacularly well due to the salve that was regularly applied. Everyone else was out doing their duties, leaving Wilson in camp alone.

Not doing anything was terribly boring, and his mind itched for something to do. Anything was better than sitting and doing nothing! The risk of splitting open his wounds was still too high for any vigorous activity however, so he stood lamely in the center of camp pondering what to do.

“Say, pal, you look like you could use some company.”

Wilson swung around, the adrenaline already pouring into his veins. “Maxwell!” he growled. “What are _you_ doing here? What do you want?”

Maxwell grinned evilly. “I think you know the answer to that, Wilson.” He took a slow draw on his cigar.

Wilson scoffed. “I can’t do what you want Maxwell. I can’t _‘come find you’_ in this condition! Whose fault, I might add, is yours.”

Maxwell was quiet for a moment. Contemplative. “Indeed, I believe you are somewhat correct in that accusation. In my defense, I would like to say that I didn’t expect you to do such a selfish act such as throwing yourself at the dogs.”

“Selfish? I risked my _life_ to save Wendy! I’ve done more for her as a stranger than you have as her own flesh and blood. You dare call _me_ selfish! You took us all here for your own perverted pleasure. Who’s the selfish one here?”

“Ahh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Wilson. Don’t lie to yourself, you weren’t all that averse to dying, were you? You’ve thought about it quite a lot in recent years. Being rid of your pesky little life wouldn’t be all that bad, especially considering you’re stuck on my island, where you assume you will meet your end regardless of what you do. Even if you _were_ to escape, what would you even be going back to? I’ll tell you what. Obscurity. Obscurity in everything except the blame of that murder that placed upon you. That’s all you are known for, and all you will ever be remembered for. Isn’t that right, Mr. Higgsbury?”

Wilson refused to say anything. He merely held a glare at the tall man before him, fury burning in his belly.

“Silence is just another form of ascent, you know,” Maxwell chided. “However, despite your best efforts, I cannot allow you to throw your life away so haphazardly. You have a grander destiny awaiting you. That being said, I can’t simply allow you to adapt to a sedentary lifestyle on my watch. You have a mission!”

Maxwell lunged at Wilson and grabbed his wrist, twisting it up to his cruelly grinning face.

Wilson gasped in pain from his cuts being thrashed by Maxwell’s harsh grip, and he looked in horror at the man’s face. Maxwell’s expression was nightmarish, his teeth sharpened and his eyes faded to white, much like the eyes of the animals on the island. Tendrils of darkness began to snake their way around Maxwell’s form.

Suddenly, it wasn’t just the cuts under Maxwell’s grasp protesting in pain. The flesh that touched his hand began to burn. It was that awful, cold burning that made Wilson feel weak. He tried desperately to wrench his arm away from Maxwell’s grip, but it only served to hurt him more.

Wilson noticed with horror that the shadows were beginning to travel from Maxwell’s hand to his own arm, turning the skin black. Wilson cried out in alarm and tried to pull away, but his muscles didn’t seem to want to obey. He tried to push Maxwell’s hand off his wrist, to twist his arm away, to pry Maxwell’s fingers off, anything. The more he struggled, the more tired he got, and the more the strange shadows scorched his nerves.

“Stop!” Wilson cried. “Please, stop!” He felt his knees buckle, and he began to slump. Almost every fiber of his being was aflame with that sickening, freezing fire. It was as if his every cell was being corrupted and torn asunder. As he fell, he felt his wrist get jerked up, and he was left hanging by his arm in Maxwell’s clawed hand.

Wisps of darkness pierced into his brain, and his vision faded. Whether it was because he was passing out from the pain or by the work of whatever dark force was intruding, he couldn’t decipher. As the presence dug painfully deeper, he swore he heard something like… voices. Or at least something similar. They spoke with emotions and intentions, ones that felt far too alien to be natural. Some voices felt excited, others were furious, others still spoke confusion and curiosity.

Without warning, Wilson was thrown roughly to the dirt, and he writhed in pain as the shadowy corruption mercifully eased its hold on his body. The pain faded, the strange voices receded, and he lay gasping on the ground as his vision cleared.

Maxwell stood above him, straightening his suit as the last wisps of shadowy smoke dissipated.

“There,” he said, his voice a touch strained and tired. “That should do the trick. Don’t say I never did anything for you. Now, you had better get moving.” He turned to walk away. “I hear the island doesn’t like having intruders. Things will only get harder from here on out, especially if you dawdle. Find me Wilson, and everything will go back… back to the way things were long before, and the greatest wishes will be granted.”

Wilson slowly sat up to watch Maxwell leave, but before he got too far, Maxwell stopped and spun back around.

“Oh, before I forget. I have one last gift to bestow upon you. This should speed you up quite a bit.” With the flourish of a well-practiced magician, a strange object appeared in his hands. He stuck it in the ground beside him and began to walk away once more.

“Good day to you, Mr. Higgsbury.”

Wilson was so distracted taking in the presence of the new object before him that he missed where Maxwell went. By the time he looked up, Maxwell was completely gone.

Wilson slowly rose and approached the… thing. What could be its purpose? It looked like his old radio, the one Maxwell had originally spoken to him through back at his house. It was mounted upon a crooked rod, and had a few strange modifications here and there whose purpose was unknown to him.

Wilson walked around it a few times, stroking his growing beard contemplatively. He studied its strange knobs and buttons, some familiar, others new. After doing a few test pokes to ensure it wasn’t immediately dangerous, Wilson uprooted the contraption from the ground.

Almost at the same time, he heard someone frantically yell, “WILSON!”

The noise scared him so badly he nearly dropped the radio. He swung his head up to see the others, led by Willow, racing into the clearing toward him.

“Wilson, what happened? We heard you yelling! It sounded like you were hurt!” Willow looked terrified, and the others seemed just about as concerned. Even Wendy, who rarely showed any sign of emotion, looked terribly worried. Their eyes darted about looking for the source of the trouble.

Wilson couldn’t quite find the words to speak. How was he supposed to explain what had happened? He couldn’t even make sense of it himself.

“Wilson, your arms!” Wendy pointed out.

Wilson looked down to find… nothing.

“What happened? All your wounds are gone!”

So they were. All the scratches, cuts, and bites he had received the past few weeks were gone. His ribs, which were still a bit sore from time to time, weren’t hurting whatsoever. There weren’t even scars to show that he had ever been hurt in the first place. Even the gash on his hand from building that machine back at home was gone. His mouth hung open in surprise.

“Why won’t tiny many talk?” Wolfgang asked Wickerbottom, tugging at her sleeve like a terrified child.

“Shh, dear. Something has obviously transpired here that scared him. Give him some room.”

Everyone backed away a bit, except for Willow, who got closer. She reached out and touched Wilson’s hand, which was still clutching the radio’s rod.

“Wilson, what happened?” she asked gently.

He swallowed the lump that was in his throat and tried to organize his thoughts.

“…Maxwell,” he began, clearing his throat. “Maxwell paid a visit.”

“Maxwell! What was that creep doing here?” Willow said indignantly.

“He… wanted to kick us into action. He says that things will only get worse from here on out if we don’t get moving. I don’t know if that means more hounds or what, but it’s likely something more deadly. He says we need to find him, and if we do, that things could go back to the way they were… before all this. Possibly even with more.”

“More? What do you mean more, honey?” asked Wickerbottom.

“I’m not entirely sure. I think it means that we’ll get back something that we’ve lost, or gain something we desire. Like Wendy’s sister, a comfortable life for Willow, a limitless supply of writing material for you, and… more muscle mass for Wolfgang I suppose. It’s like this is all a big game, and if we survive it then we can get our wish granted. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s the way I understood it. But he didn't say it so plainly. But I heard it. Somehow.” He didn't want to mention the strange 'voices' he had heard, lest he be labeled as even more crazy than before. Despite the distraction from all the pain, there was still something extra that he understood from those corrupting voices. He just hoped that what he heard was correct and he wasn't spouting nonsense.

Abigail floated up to him and whispered something with that windy voice. He looked to Wendy for a translation.

“She said, ‘What’s _your_ wish, Wilson?’”

He was somewhat surprised by the question, expecting something about the encounter or what he meant by wishes. Not this. “Well, I, uh…”

“Is it to create the best invention ever?” Willow asked.

“Want to be _mighty_ scientist?” Wolfgang piped in.

“N…no. Not quite. I… have actually lost someone myself, like you Wendy. A dear loved one. Only she didn’t come back like Abigail did. My wish is to see her again.”

Willow gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. Losing someone you love is one of the hardest things.”

“Yeah…it sure is…” Wilson was getting a little bleary-eyed thinking about his past, and was glad when Wendy interrupted.

“So why were you screaming earlier, Wilson?”

He shook his head to clear it a little, and looked at her, trying to find his words, and deciding what to tell and what to keep secret. In the end, he figured secrets were useless. “That part… is a little harder to explain. Maxwell did something to me. He grabbed me, and it was like… corrupted shadows flooded my body. It was the worst pain I had felt in my entire life. What’s worse, I think the shadows were alive. Sentient, even. It felt like they were speaking to me, but without actual voices. They also seemed to mutate Maxwell. His eyes turned white, like the animals. The shadows have healed me somehow through all of that, but now I realize that there’s something much darker going on upon this island. Not even the shadows are normal.”

“What about that… radio on a stick thing?” Willow asked.

Wilson looked at the strange device in his hands. “I’m not quite sure what this is yet. Maxwell left it behind… said it was a gift, and it would help us with my—our—mission to escape.”

“Well I don’t trust it,” Willow declared, suddenly sounding angry. “Maxwell wants us dead. Why would he give us something that would supposedly help prevent that? For all we know, it could be a time bomb or something.”

“I don’t know… Maxwell is sadistic, yes, but I don’t think he would off us all like that. He strikes me as a man who would rather witness a slow, painful death by natural causes over a quick explosion,” Wilson reasoned.

“I still don’t like it,” Willow huffed, and walked away.

“I no like explosions either,” Wolfgang murmured nervously, and backed a fair distance away.

“What do you suppose it does?” Wickerbottom asked, approaching the thing and adjusting her glasses.

“I really don’t know. Maybe all it does is play music? It _is_ a radio after all. Of course, that doesn’t explain why Maxwell says that it will help us… I guess we’ll just have to experiment.”

“Just be careful, Mr. Higgsbury. Though your theory about Maxwell seems sound, there’s no way to tell for sure. It could still be dangerous.”

“Indeed. I will be sure to proceed with caution.” Wilson carried the radio to the center of camp and sat on a log, scrutinizing the contraption. The others slowly dispersed, returning to their previous duties. Wendy remained behind to finish weaving the roof to a rain shelter they had been constructing.

Wilson spun some dials he knew once upon a time adjusted the tuning and volume on the radio, but they spun freely as if they weren’t connected to anything inside. Likely disused and remained only for aesthetic purposes. He knew Maxwell was all about appearances, going by his dapper style and grand gestures. Wilson turned his attention to a bigger button that had been mounted on the back.

His curiosity was overwhelming. This button obviously did something, but the last time he activated one of Maxwell’s contraptions it landed him on this island. What did he have to lose this time though? He was already stranded on some strange island with no easy way out. No matter how well things seemed to be going here, there was always something lurking in the shadows looking to catch them unaware. As much as he loathed to admit, Maxwell was right. Sometimes death really was the easy way out, and if this radio thing were to kill him, what did he have to lose?

Wendy sneezed, breaking Wilson’s reverie. She rubbed her nose and sniffed, then continued weaving in silence. _Her,_ he thought. _I could lose her._ Though she would never admit it out loud, she cared for him. He could tell by the way she tried keep an eye out for him at all times, especially after the hound attack. She was scared of losing him again.

That behavior could be seen at this very moment. Usually she didn’t sit down to start weaving until the sun got low in the sky, using it as a way to wind down after a long day. But here she was, weaving away in the middle of the afternoon. She had plenty of other duties that she could have attended to, but she chose to stay here with him after he was—for lack of a better word— _attacked_ by Maxwell. She was protecting him. In her own way, she loved him.

The thought made his heart grow warm. This meant a lot to him for some reason, and he had to admit that he loved her too. Wilson decided then and there that if Maxwell wouldn’t be a good uncle to Wendy, then at least he could try to be a good pseudo-uncle for her. Heaven knows she needed someone to care for her and understand her. From what she had told him, not even her own parents accepted her fully, telling her off for believing in her sister. So yes, he actually _did_ have something to lose.

Then what to do about the radio? He couldn’t just do nothing. What if it really _was_ helpful in some way? It would be foolish to overlook it. Would Maxwell really heal him only to immediately kill him? It seemed counterproductive, especially considering how drained he looked after he did so. One doesn’t put themselves through something like that for such a petty revenge. What was the purpose of—

“Are you going to push the button or not?” Wendy interrupted his thoughts. “You’ve been sitting there staring at it with your hand twitching for almost five minutes. It’s getting really annoying.”

“Well what am I supposed to do? What if it’s dangerous?” he countered.

“You will never know if you just stare at it all day. Either get rid of it and forget about it, or just push the button. What are your options otherwise?”

“W-well, I could take it apart and study its components…”

“And risk breaking it or triggering some defense mechanism against such a thing? Even if the device itself is safe, I wouldn’t put it past uncle Maxy to keep you from tinkering with it. If he knows you as well as he claims to, he knows you would want to try dismantling it, and thus he would put some preventative measures into its design. Honestly Wilson, think a little.”

Wilson sputtered for a moment, trying to think of a good comeback, and again coming up short. The kid was right. Her logic was sound. Why didn’t he think of that? He probably would have just started to take it apart and ended up getting killed or seriously injured. His ego hurt that a ten year old could see such implications while he couldn’t, but nonetheless he was glad she did.

“Well? Are you going to just sit there like a wide-eyed lunatic or are you going to push the button?” Wendy chided.

Wilson puffed up slightly, trying to feign the confidence he currently did not possess. “Yes, I will,” he declared, orienting the radio so he could easily press the button. He hesitated and looked at Wendy. She gave him a look that said, _any day now!_ Wilson took a deep breath and pushed the button.

A loud noise erupted from the radio, making the two of them jump. Wilson nearly lost hold of the radio’s rod, but at the last moment caught it, holding it out at arm’s length nervously. Abigail let out a worried coo as she swept defensively to Wendy’s side. It was quiet for a few moments before the same noise sounded again. They were quiet for a few moments, waiting to see if it would do anything else. It merely made the same noise at regular intervals, its grating call jarring their senses.

“What is it doing?” he wondered out loud. “Is it an… alarm of some sort?”

“What would it be alerting for?”

“I don’t know… this is strange indeed.” Wilson stood up, still holding the rod. During contemplation he sometimes found that pacing helped get his mind moving. With as baffled as he was, now was a good of a time as any to do so. Besides, it felt nice to be able to move without pain. As he walked to the far end of camp, he noticed a slight change in the radio’s pitch. It grew ever so slightly lower, more drawn out. He stopped walking for a moment, waiting for it to call out again. Sure enough, it seemed just as different as the last. He retraced his steps back toward Wendy, and heard it return to its original pitch. He continued walking until he was on the other side of camp, and he noticed the noise grow ever so slightly higher.

“Do you hear that?” he asked excitedly to Wendy, turning to face her.

“Hear the radio? Of course, you dolt.”

“No no no, the change in the noise! When I was over there, it grew lower, and over here it’s higher. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there!”

Wendy just blinked slowly.

Wilson was nearly buzzing with excitement, like an overstimulated puppy. “I must test this theory further!” He held out the radio and began walking away from camp once again, listening carefully for changes in the radio’s noises. He was so concentrated on the contraption that he didn’t even notice Wendy get up to follow him.

Wilson followed the noise for a while, following it as it got more frequent and higher-pitched. He sometimes had to double back as it began to get lower again. Wendy eventually caught on to what he was talking about, and offered her assistance. They had been going for around thirty minutes or so before Wendy suggested they go back.

“It’s going to be dark soon, and the others will be coming back to camp. They’ll wonder where we’ve gone. You have already worried them once today already, I’m sure they won’t appreciate us going missing,” Wendy explained. “Besides, you know better than all of us what happens if you stay out too late without a light.”

Wilson was going to insist that they continue for just a little while longer, until Wendy mentioned the night monster. A shiver went down Wilson’s spine, despite the heat. That was definitely an experience he didn’t want to relive.

“Alright. Let’s get going.” On a hunch, Wilson pushed the button on the radio again, and the grating noises halted. To think he was once so scared of a simple on-off button!

It took them a while to find their way back due to the erratic path they had taken, but eventually they found landmarks to guide them. When they arrived, Wickerbottom and Wolfgang were already in the campsite, organizing their spoils. Wolfgang had chopped down some trees and procured lumber, while Wickerbottom had gathered berries, carrots, and other foodstuffs. Willow had not yet returned.

“Oh! Where have you two been?” Wickerbottom asked.

“Wilson was listening to strange voices from a radio again,” Wendy teased.

Wilson gave her an exasperated glare, and turned to address Wickerbottom after sticking the rod into the ground. “Not exactly. I found out how to—ow!” Wendy had hit him in the hip. “Oh, fine. _We_ found out how to turn this thing on. It seems to function as some sort of homing device. The frequency of its noises gets higher as we travel in a certain direction. That’s where we went; we were seeing if it led somewhere, but we decided to come back before it got dark. I really think we’re on to something! It might lead to Maxwell, and that’s why he said it would speed us up!”

“What if it’s just leading you into a trap?” Willow’s grumpy voice interjected. Wilson turned to see her walking into camp.

“I... I suppose that’s possible, but what if it really is our way out of here? We should take every chance we can get!”

“And risk walking right into the jaws of some corrupted beast? I don’t think so!”

Wilson was slightly dumbfounded. “Isn’t it a chance worth taking?”

“I would rather take my chances right here, where I at least _know_ what’s around me.”

“Then how do you expect to get off this island?” Wilson was growing frustrated with her attitude.

“I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

“There _isn’t_ any other way out. We’ve tried. We’re stuck here unless we do something! We’ve been presented a possible way off this island! Why _not_ take advantage of this opportunity?”

“Because it was given to us by the very man who brought us here!” she cried.

“What if this is all just a game? And in order to win it, we have to follow this path? It sounds ludicrous, but it’s the best bet we have.”

“It sounds ludicrous because it _is_ ludicrous! There’s no way Maxwell would let us leave!”

“That’s no excuse to just lie down and give up! We have to at least _try.”_ He and Willow were nearly yelling at this point.

“If trying just ends up with us getting killed, then why try at all?”

“What’s wrong with you? Don’t you want to get off the island?”

“No!” Willow nearly screamed. Tears began to run down her face. “I don’t! What is there for me off the island? Nothing! I don’t have a home to return to like the rest of you. I have no friends who have missed me. No family to welcome me back. My only possessions are likely long gone by now. It will be like starting all over for me, and I’m not sure I have the strength to do that all over again. I have _nothing_. At least here I have food and passable shelter, which is oceans more than I had back there.”

“Willow, I—“ Wilson began.

“Don’t _‘Willow’_ me! I don’t want your pity. I’ve had enough of that. People have always looked down on me as the sad child with no future, the poor teenager with no plan, and the useless adult with nowhere to go. I’m sick of it. I don’t want to go back to that! I want nothing to do with this hair-brained plan of yours!”

“Please, I…”

“No! I’m done! Leave me alone.” Willow stomped angrily out of camp, leaving the rest of them in stunned silence. Several long moments passed.

“I…I didn’t realize…” Wilson muttered in defeat. He felt terribly guilty for pushing her into a breakdown. It went against every gentlemanly code he held so dear.

Wickerbottom came over and put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright dear, you didn’t know. She just seems she’s having a hard time right now. You can’t blame her, we’ve all been under a lot of pressure. Her more than all of us, I daresay. Just give her some room.”

Wilson looked up at her sadly. “Alright…”

Wickerbottom pulled him into an embrace. It surprised him momentarily, but he quickly melted into her hug, returning it graciously. It was a gesture of comfort he hadn’t felt in quite a long time, and he deeply appreciated it. Wickerbottom made no move to separate them, and Wilson was glad. He held on for quite some time, burying his face into her shoulder. When he finally did pull away, he felt a bit sheepish for making it go on so long. Wickerbottom didn’t seem to mind in the least however, and simply smiled kindly and went to fire to get it going for dinner. Even Wendy gave him a compassionate look as he moved to sit by the fire.

Wilson sat on the log and watched the fire burst into life as Wickerbottom worked to prepare their meal. He heard someone sit next to him, and looked to find Wendy. She gave him a small smile and scooted closer, leaning her head on his arm. He was shocked at first, but then he realized that this was her way of comforting him. He let himself relax, and put his arm around her, pulling her closer. She snuggled into his side.

Distant thunder rumbled through the land, and Wilson looked to the horizon to see rainclouds boiling in the distance. Wolfgang whimpered slightly, and looked to Wickerbottom for reassurance. Wickerbottom was too busy with her cooking to notice. Wilson smiled slightly and beckoned him over, inviting him to sit by his other side. Wolfgang happily complied, snuggling up to the smaller man the best he could.

_For such a large man, he sure is gentle,_ thought Wilson. He was sure that he would get crushed by Wolfgang getting so close, but he was surprised to find that he treated him as carefully as any other person would handle a newborn. Though he flinched and squeezed Wilson’s arm whenever a peal of thunder broke loose, Wolfgang seemed to draw immense comfort from being near someone. Wilson felt likewise.

The rain began shortly after they finished dinner, just before the last of the light slipped from the sky. Luckily they had already nearly finished their rudimentary rain shelter, and merely had to assemble its last few components. They huddled under its roof, sharing body heat as the rain drained away the day’s warmth. The fire popped and fizzed as the water hit it, and Wilson was afraid it might get too drenched to continue burning.

He was worried about Willow. She hadn’t returned to camp yet, and night was nearly upon them. He would never forgive himself if she ended up dying out there because of his own folly. He scanned the trees obsessively.

Wilson spotted a light off in the distance. He craned his neck to see through the trees, and saw the unmistakable flicker of a campfire. He breathed a sigh of relief knowing Willow at least had some light to keep the night monster at bay. But he was still worried about her being stuck in the rain. One could quickly succumb to hypothermia if they didn’t get out of the rain in a timely fashion.

Wilson pointed out the fire to Wickerbottom. “I’m going to go check on her.”

“Take some of the leftover food with you dear. She’s probably half starved.”

Wilson nodded, and gathered up some of the food onto a large, flat rock and lit a torch. He stepped out into the rain, grumbling to himself as his hair was assaulted. He carefully made his way through the trees toward the light, keeping a careful eye on his footing.

He arrived to find Willow sitting by the fire with her back to him, hugging her knees to her chest. She had no shelter, and was nearly soaking.

“Hey there, Willow,” Wilson said softly.

She jumped slightly at his voice as if she was surprised. He couldn’t imagine that she didn’t hear his clumsy walking, but he ignored that for now.

“I brought you some food,” he said sheepishly, crouching down next to her and holding the rudimentary rock plate out to her. She didn’t make any move to take it.

Wilson sat down, putting out the torch and setting down the rock. “Listen, Willow. I’m sorry that what I said earlier upset you. I didn’t mean it that way. I wasn’t really aware of your feelings on the situation, and I feel like rubbish for putting you through that.”

Willow grunted in reply.

“Though I can’t fully understand your situation,” he continued, “I can relate to it at least a little bit. I have no family or friends to return to either. They all abandoned me because of accusations for a crime I didn’t commit. So I know what it feels like to be helpless and alone, with no one to turn to.” He took a deep breath. “Although my house isn’t the homiest, I would like to offer you a place to stay until you can get back on your feet. I could be your friend, if you would like.”

Willow looked up at him. Her eyes were red and puffy like she had been crying. Due to the heavy rain, he couldn’t be sure if she still was or not, but the rest of her face betrayed strong emotion. “You would do that for me?” she whispered.

“Of course. You saved my life, the least I can do is help you gain yours.”

She threw her arms around him and began sobbing. He was shocked for a moment, but then he reached up to rub her back comfortingly. He wasn’t quite sure how long they stayed like this, but by the time Willow finally released him the tiny fire had gotten quite ��low due to the rain.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude like that, I—“ she mumbled.

“N-no, it’s fine. It really is. You’re under a lot of stress. I understand,” he echoed Wickerbottom’s words.

“I lashed out at you earlier. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I probably did. It wasn’t fair of me to just push you like that without taking your feelings into account. I’m the one who should be saying sorry.”

She let out a choked laugh. “I guess we’re both a bit at fault then, huh?”

He chuckled. “I suppose we are.” He looked at the now soaking wet plate of food. “That’s still good if you don’t mind a little rainwater seasoning. You should eat.”

She nodded slightly and picked up the rock. She munched on the berries and rabbit morsels for a moment, before her appetite really hit her and she began to practically shove the food into her mouth.

“Easy there, there’s more where that came from. Don’t hurt yourself!”

She nodded again, slightly embarrassed, and slowed down ever so slightly. Once she finished, Wilson spoke up again.

“Let’s get you back to camp and get you dried off. You’ll catch cold if you stay out here for much longer. We could use an expert on fire to keep the flames going through the rain, I might add.”

She smiled at him. “Alright. I _am_ getting pretty cold.”

Wilson picked up his torch and held it over the fading fire to try and get it to light, but to no avail. “Blasted thing is too wet to catch…”

“Here, I’ve got something,” Willow said, and drew out a lighter. She switched it on, lighting up her face. It wasn’t nearly as bright as a torch, but it was enough to keep the night monster away. They slowly picked their way back to camp, taking care to not slip on any wet rocks or trip on rogue roots.

Upon their return, Willow quickly worked her charm and got the fire blazing beautifully, and they joined the others in the rain shelter. They had to sit separate from them for a while as their clothes dried so they wouldn't get anyone else wet too. Wilson removed his waistcoat and dress shirt and hung them up on the supports for the shelter so the fire could dry them off. He felt a bit exposed in only his black undershirt, but at least he was drying off faster now. Willow did the same, removing her blouse and stockings, also leaving her in her undershirt. She didn’t seem as embarrassed as Wilson being as exposed however, and seemed more than happy to speed up the drying process. Wilson tried to hide his blush.

The rain continued through the night. The group tried to get as much sleep as possible, but between Willow’s grumbling about the rain, Wolfgang’s whimpering about the thunder, and Wickerbottom’s complaints about her joints, it turned out to be a very long, very wet night.

 


	12. She Returns

 

The rain didn’t ease up the entire night. The group stubbornly stayed in their shelter well into the day, until they each became so stir-crazy that one by one they braved the downpour just so they could stretch their limbs.

Some fared the rain better than others. Wilson was terribly disgruntled about his hair getting wet, and Willow was downright sour about everything the rain and wetness brought. Wolfgang was jumpy and jittery as long as the thunder peals rang through the air, but once that settled down he didn't seem to notice the rain at all. Wendy looked gloomier than usual—if that were even possible—but she said nothing about it. Wickerbottom fared the worst of all of them; the weather and lack of movement had caused her old joints to swell and freeze up. As the rest of them moved out into the easing rain to work on some chores, Wolfgang stayed behind with her to help massage the joints to make them feel better, after a little instruction on how to do it properly.

_Such a gentle giant,_ Wilson thought fondly as he helped Willow organize the diminished woodpile.

Those who could brave the rain focused on repairing and upgrading the shelter, along with building a smaller, new one for the woodpile. In its original, hasty construction, the structure had a few holes and other flaws, allowing far too much of the weather inside. Willow and Wilson worked on the roof while Wendy created a thick mat to put on top a bed of rocks that worked as both a way to keep them off the wet ground, and as a drainage system for any rain that found its way inside.

Willow did her best to keep the fire going, but soon both the fire pit and the logs became too wet to keep a decent fire. The heat of the fire evaporating the water simply couldn’t keep up with the rainwater that replaced it.

The rain eased up into a fine drizzle in the evening, but it was too late for the feeble light to dry anything out. They grew nervous.

“We need to get a fire lit before nightfall,” Wilson mumbled, his eyebrows scrunching in worry as he looked toward the setting sun.

“I know,” Willow muttered as she tried once again to get kindling to catch with her lighter. “Everything is just too waterlogged! Stupid rain! Why, if I had the power…” She dissolved into bad tempered grumblings as she continued to try to light things on fire. Wilson was fairly certain she was individually naming and cursing every body of water she could think of. He was glad Wendy was enough of a distance away she need not hear the foul words tumbling from Willow’s mouth, and he didn’t dare reprimand Willow for her language for fear of having that wrath turned on him.

“Why not try to dry off?” Wolfgang offered, waving around a stick to demonstrate airing off the water.

“It’s highly likely that such a practice would be quite inefficient. But I suppose if you want to try, you are welcome to do so,” Wilson said, gesturing listlessly at the pile of soaking logs.

Wolfgang nodded and puffed out chest. “I am mighty! I scare water away from fire food!” He stood up all the longs on their ends to space them out, then took Wilson’s waistcoat from the shelter where it was hanging to dry and used it as a fan on the wood.

“He’s nothing if not determined,” Wickerbottom mused as she hobbled over to Wilson. “We could all use some childish wonder and innocence like that sometimes.”

“I suppose,” Wilson said, eyeing Wolfgang and wishing he wasn’t using _his_ waistcoat for such a violent display of movement. It was already falling apart at the seams as is. “I just hope he doesn’t tire himself out too much. Food is scarce, and we can’t go burning too much energy on foolish things.”

“Oh, let him do it. He feels like he’s being helpful. What’s the worst that could happen? We give him a few extra berries to eat and we have a few dry logs.”

“Well, I hope it’s soon. The sun has already gone down. It will be dark any minute now.”

Willow nursed a small, sputtering fire into life as they continued to speak for the next few minutes. She used the heat from the small flame to dry more kindling before she added it. Wolfgang presented some small, split logs who’s surfaces he had actually effectively dried. His grin reached ear to ear as he handed them to her.

Willow tore off chunks of the bark, feeding the pieces into the growing fire. She held a log over the flame, blowing on it to encourage it to catch.

Wilson watched with bated breath. The light from the sun was disappearing, and the fire wasn’t yet bright enough to encompass them all in its light. He broke out in a nervous sweat despite the cold.

“Can’t you make it go any faster?” he urged.

“Shut up. I’m working on it,” Willow snapped.

Wilson fidgeted, glancing out into the dark forest in a futile attempt to watch out for the night monster. He didn’t want to come across that creature again, but a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach convinced him that his old ‘friend’ was approaching, eager to sink its shadowy teeth into his flesh once more and finish the job it started.

“Come on, catch,” Willow breathed, willing the fire to life. It snacked lazily at the damp kindling she offered, casting feeble light hardly more than a foot or two. Wolfgang and Wickerbottom came in closer, and Wilson stood with his back to the fire, staring out into the deepening darkness. The night monster was close. He could already feel the pull of dread picking at his sanity.

Wilson heard a wail sound out to his side, and he whipped his head around to see Abigail’s glowing form rushing through the dark. He heard a tremendous, distorted roar, followed by a high pitched scream and a thump.

“Wendy!” he cried, throwing himself toward her voice. He stumbled around in the dark, trying to find her. “Wendy!”

“Wilson, take this!” he heard Willow yell over the mounting growl of the night monster. Wilson saw Willow’s faint silhouette throw something, and with only a vague, shadowy form to go by, Wilson clumsily caught her lighter. He could hear the night monster rushing in for another attack.

Wilson fumbled with the lighter, snapping it on the moment he was convinced the monster would snap him in half. The flame sputtered into life, and the roar split around him with a rush of air, narrowly escaping the faint light. Wilson let out the breath he had been holding in a rush.

He heard Abigail wail in terror once again and he followed the sound. From Abigail’s soft glow, he could see something on the ground. He ran toward it, his light outstretched in front of him to stave off the night monster’s attack.

The light fell over Wendy’s body, and he heard an angry, demonic screech resound from all around him. It retreated into an unknown direction, watching, waiting for them to make a mistake.

Wilson dropped to his knees by Wendy, holding his light above her. Relief flooded through him when he saw she was alive. She was curled up on the ground, clutching her left cheek and shivering. He saw blood oozing between her fingers as tears silently spilled from the corners of her eyes.

“Wendy, we need to get to the fire. Quickly,” Wilson urged, wishing he could be more gentle, but not wanting to waste any more time. His heart pounded in his ears as he helped her up, her bloodied hand almost slipping from his.

He ushered her close to the fire, which had thankfully gotten larger in his absence. Though Wolfgang had become inconsolable from fear through the encounter, Willow and Wickerbottom had combined forces to get the fire bigger and brighter, knowing it was the best protection.

The flames licked curiously at the logs, considering climbing onto it. At last it accepted the offering, climbing on and brightening the camp.

Wilson sat Wendy down and gently pulled her hand away from her cheek to assess the damage. Several long, deep slashes raked from just below her eye all the way down past her jaw, nicking her neck. Tinges of corrosive black radiated from the edges. Wendy’s tears mingled with the blood as she scrunched up her face and let out the first sound she had made since the scream—a small, terrified sob.

“Here, press this against it to stop the bleeding,” Wickerbottom said, scooping some of the spider salve out of its bowl onto a folded handkerchief and handing it to Wilson.

Wilson took it and pressed it lightly against Wendy’s cheek and jaw. “Can you hold that there for me?” he asked, moving his hand away when she reached up. She closed her eyes again and set her face into a pained yet determined expression. She gave a single, small nod.

“We’ll need to clean that up,” he announced to the others. "We need warm water, a clean cloth, and something to use as a bandage. Can we do this?”

“Yes, we have the water bowl full of rain. We’ll put that by the fire,” Wickerbottom said. “I just washed your handkerchief too, so that can be used. Willow, keep working on getting that fire going, I’ll take care of the rest. Wilson, you stay with Wendy.”

Wilson nodded and turned back to Wendy. Abigail floated to the side, her high-pitched coos worried.

“It’s okay Abigail,” he said. “It’s just a few scratches. She’ll be alright. We’re here to take good care of her.”

Wendy peeked an eye open at him, and though she said nothing, he could tell she was grateful for his reassurance. He sat closer to her, putting an arm around her to comfort her as the other got the supplies ready.

The water took a while boil due to the meager size of the fire, but once Willow could coax it into a decent flame—thanks to Wolfgang’s surprisingly effective drying efforts—the water began to heat up.

A tense silence hung over the dim campfire as they waited. Unable to bear the quiet, Wickerbottom broke into telling fairytales to keep everybody’s worried minds off the predicament. Wendy was silent and unresponsive through most of it, save for a few pained whimpers now and then.

Once the water boiled and had time to cool to a safe temperature, Wilson began his work on cleaning Wendy’s wound. She stayed stoic through the process, though the twitches, clenched teeth, and wet eyes kept Wilson believing she was still human. With the crusted blood gone and no longer flowing, Wilson could get a better look at the wounds.

Spanning across her cheek and jaw were four deep gashes of varying length. Looking at his own hand near them as he cleaned, he couldn’t help but note how… human they seemed. They were spaced just like a person’s fingers, and the length and deepness was consistent with a human’s hand should they scratch something. The only thing that convinced him otherwise was that these wounds were the work of very animalistic claws. Whatever was out there was a force to be reckoned with in any case.

He spread the spider salve onto the wounds, and he could see Wendy ease her tense muscles as it soothed the pain. He fixed up a patch of gauze from the spider’s silk Wickerbottom handed him and applied it on top to protect the salve from dirt and other contaminants.

“I am unsure how we could comfortably secure a bandage to your face, but I believe the stickiness of the salve will keep that attached as long as you’re gentle,” Wilson explained.

Wendy gave a nod, her eyes downcast. She looked exhausted.

“With that done,” Willow interjected, “I say we all get a bit of shuteye. Nobody hardly slept last night, and heaven knows we need sleep.” She stuck another log by the fire, not close enough to burn, but enough to dry it off for future use.

“Under different circumstances, I would suggest a watch. Having a pair of eyes keeping an eye on both the fire and Wendy would ease my mind,” Wickerbottom joined in. “However, we just so happened to have a phenomenal asset at our disposal. Abigail, would you be willing to double your watch and wake one of us up if the fire gets low, Wendy has any problems, or anything else of concern happens?”

Abigail nodded eagerly, excited to have such an important job.

“Great. You’re confident in your ability to wake someone up in such an event, I presume?”

Again, she nodded, a mischievous smile spreading across her face.

“Perfect. Then without further ado, let us rest!”

They split up to prepare their sleeping arrangements, and Wilson helped Wendy with hers. She still said nothing, but she looked appreciative of his help. Her expressions were always small and barely perceptible, but over the past couple of weeks Wilson had learned how to read her. She was actually quite dynamic in her expressions, if one could catch them through how tiny they were. Either that, or she trusted him enough to show enough emotion that he could read her.

Everyone in the group moved their mats closer to the fire, giving the darkness a wide berth. Wilson moved Wendy’s even closer since he saw how nervous Wendy seemed about the encroaching darkness. Normally she had no fear of the dark, but now she stayed as far away from it as she could, nearly standing inside the fire pit to escape the terrors the night held.

As Wilson set up his own mat a few feet away, he felt Wendy tug on his shirt. He turned to see her giving him a pleading look.

“Did you want me to stay…?” Wilson ventured.

Wendy gave a small, scared nod, glancing past Wilson into the darkness.

“Alright. Let me just get my bed over here then.”

Wilson drug his mat over, arranging it so he was between Wendy and the edge of the darkness. He laid down on his side, looking at her with a gentle smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he whispered. “I won’t let anything hurt you again. I promise.”

Wendy’s eyes teared up again as her lip wavered. She scooted nearer to him, laying down and burying the unwounded side of her face up against his chest as she snuggled close to him. He thought he heard her a tiny ‘thank you.’

Wilson reached an arm over her to hug her closer to him, rubbing her back as she curled up ever tighter.

He noticed Wickerbottom looking over at them, giving a soft, nostalgic smile. When she noticed Wilson looking at her, she gave an approving nod and laid down too.

Wilson stayed there for Wendy as she fell asleep. When he heard her breathing even out and slow, he carefully moved both of them into more comfortable positions—still very close for both reassurance and warmth for Wendy—and fell asleep.

Several times in the night he awoke, sometimes to check on Wendy, and other times in a cold sweat as he jerked awake from nightmares. Night by night they were getting worse, and his quality of rest was declining. He prayed that the horrible things he saw would not come into fruition.

Oh, how he prayed.

 

 


	13. Adventure

 

Wilson awoke just as the sky brightened. He shivered as a cold breeze swept through camp, making the fire sputter. As silently as he could manage, he maneuvered around Wendy to get close to the firepit and throw in some more wood.

The recent rain and dense cloud cover had cooled down the island, and Wilson wished he had access to a coat or blanket to wrap up in. Once the sun rose it would warm up, especially if the confounded clouds cleared up a little, but at the moment Wilson was chilled and grumpy.

There was a lot to do today. Their food stores had fallen dismally low during the rainstorm since they had hardly left the camp. The rain shelter could still use some expanding, and not to mention… the radio was ever enticing. It stood in all its rickety glory on the edge of camp, stuck in the mud on its curious little bent rod.

To be honest, Wilson rejoiced in the existence of the contraption. Even though he was healed and could leave the camp again, gathering berries and trapping rabbits held no mental stimulation for him. The mystery of the radio on the other hand held an abundance. He wished he could go tinker with it now, but he didn’t want to risk setting off its noise and waking everyone else up.

He didn’t have to wait long. Wendy rolled over, brushing the sore part of her face on accident and waking herself up. Disgruntled, she opened her eyes. She saw Wilson awake and sat up herself, staring listlessly into the fire.

“Feeling alright?” Wilson asked softly.

She gave a small shrug.

_At least she’s awake and interactive,_ he thought.

“May I?” he whispered, gesturing to the bandage on her face. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded.

Wilson scooted closer and reached up to peel away the gauze, the dry bits of the salve cracking as it crumbled. Wilson cleaned away the larger globs of the stuff so he could see the wound. It still gaped angrily, but no signs of infection could be found. The healing had already begun, going unnaturally fast. Wendy probably wouldn’t be able to heal well enough to avoid scarring, but if they kept it clean it could be much less noticeable. It was a mighty shame she would have to live the rest of her life with such an obvious reminder to this place. Perhaps Maxwell’s power—once they found him—could heal her as it had done to Wilson. Hopefully gentler, too.

Wickerbottom was the next to awaken, never being a sound sleeper even on the best of nights. She saw Wilson attending to Wendy’s wounds and prepared supplies for him. By the time they had it cleaned and bandaged the sun was peaking over the horizon, and the others were stirring.

Willow went straight for the food stores. “Man, there’s hardly anything left in here. If you guys are gonna want to eat, you’ll have to go hunt your own! Dibs on this!” She grinned and aggressively licked the last carrot and dumped the last handful of overripe berries into her mouth.

Wilson sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. She was such a defensive eater, always licking or spitting on everything to dissuade everyone else from touching any of the food she claimed. Likely a habit she picked up from growing up in an orphanage, and the technique certainly worked on Wilson. The thought of ingesting even his _own_ saliva after it had time to cool off on a carrot appalled him. Not that carrots were even remotely appetizing in the first place, the dirty, pithy, disgusting little—

“Wilson,” Wickerbottom called. “Why don’t you take Wolfgang and go check on the traps? I’d do it myself, but my knees are still locked up. I’ll watch over Wendy, don’t worry,” she added once she saw Wilson’s nervous glance at the little girl.

“A-alright,” he stuttered, gesturing for Wolfgang to follow and grabbing a spear.

They wandered around the nearby woods and meadows checking the sodden traps, some containing shivering, barely-alive rabbits, but most harboring the sopping wet, stiff bodies of the dead ones that had frozen to death. It must be an awful, slow way to go, soaking wet, slowly freezing away in the night…

“Hey Wolfgang,” he said, forcing his mind off the morbid thought. “Do you think it would be... er, fun to go on an adventure to see where that radio takes us?”

“Will radio hurt?” Wolfgang asked, sounding a little scared.

“No, I don’t think so. I believe it’s harmless.”

“Adventure sound fun! Hope no monsters join though. They scary.”

Wilson chuckled. “Yes, they can be very scary. We’ll be sure to avoid them the best we can.”

“That good. I like that!”

Wilson smiled at Wolfgang's childish simplicity. Wickerbottom was right, it really was refreshing. Not to mention, at least he had an ally for his quest now.

They brought back nearly as many rabbits as there were traps, bringing along the broken ones to be repaired.

“Aww yeah, big breakfast for us today!” Willow cheered when they walked back into camp, Wolfgang’s arms piled high with rabbits. She rubbed her hands together eagerly as she got up to help them unload.

Willow got her fire going again and roasted up the food. While he waited, Wilson toyed with the radio again. Try as he might, he couldn’t find anything new about it by looking at the outside. What he wouldn’t give to take it apart.

After a meaty breakfast, he decided to bring it up. He hoped with a full belly and a warm back from the rising sun would put them—most especially Willow—in a better mood to listen to his antics.

“Alright, I know what you’re probably going to say, but hear me out. I’m going to follow the radio’s signal. Alone if I have to. I just feel deep down that this is something beneficial to us, and I believe we should give it a chance. Try and stop me all you wish, but my mind is made up. I’m going," he said, stamping his foot to punctuate his determination.

“I’m coming with you then.”

“Wh-what? Willow? I thought you-“

“I do. I hate that thing. I believe it’s one of the most dangerous things on this godforsaken island. But it won’t do any of us any good if you end up getting lost or eaten by something. You need someone to protect you.” Willow stood up, crossing her arms and popping her hip stubbornly.

“I would like to come too,” Wendy’s soft voice piped up.

“Well, I certainly can’t go,” Wickerbottom said. “And I need someone here to keep me company. Wolfgang dear, would you like to stay with me? I can continue telling that story you love!”

“One about the Franker… Franklin…” Wolfgang mumbled.

“Frankenstein’s monster, yes. I only wish I had the book with me, going off this old memory certainly leaves out a lot of the elegance of the original story.”

“Wolfgang like Franky’s monster!” he boomed, smiling widely. “He big and mighty like me! But also nice like me.”

“Yes, you are indeed a very kind ‘monster’ of a man, aren’t you?” Wickerbottom mused, smiling as she looked him up and down as he flexed proudly.

“Well alright then,” Wilson said, straightening his waistcoat self-consciously, baffled that went so well but not willing to say anything to the contrary to mess it up. “With all that arranged, let’s gather some supplies and see where this thing takes us!”

Wilson, Willow, and Wendy—ever followed by her twin—walked for a little more than an hour inland, following the radio’s steady blares. As they moved in the supposed ‘correct’ direction, the alarms came faster, louder, and higher pitched. They slowed down when it was an almost constant stream of ear-piercing noise.

“What’s supposed to be here?” Willow yelled over the din. “I don’t see anything!”

“I don’t know!” Wilson cried back, fiddling with the radio, desperately wishing it had a volume dial. He felt a tug at his sleeve and looked down to see Wendy trying to say something. Her soft-spoken voice got drowned out by the blasted radio, so with a huff, Wilson clicked it off.

“Sorry about that Wendy. Say again?”

“I said, look over there,” she pointed into the trees where several piles of rocks stood on a flat, stone surface that broke through the grass.

“Could that be it?” Wilson murmured, trying to hold back his childlike excitement to retain his pride. He wandered closer, forcing himself to walk nonchalantly, with the others close behind.

As he approached, the reeking scent of those putrid flowers filled his nostrils, the smell making his brain buzz like the heavy smell of wet paint in a small, unventilated room, but much worse.

He walked around a couple of rock piles, finding two curious things within the circle of stacked stones. The first was an ordinary garden gnome, standing to the side like a loyal guardsman. Its charge was a strange box thing with a lever poking out its side. It looked awfully familiar, but Wilson couldn’t put his finger on why.

Meanwhile, Wendy was busy with her own agenda. Her eyes lit up and her mouth dropped open in an astonished smile. “Oh my gosh, it’s so _cute!”_ she squeaked, rushing over to drop to her knees and scoop the gnome into her arms, Abigail circling around her happily. “I’d carry this to the end of the world,” Wendy whispered, holding the gnome closer as she absentmindedly rubbed dirt off its face.

Wilson and Willow exchanged glances, almost unsure if they were supposed to take this seriously. Was Wendy just joking? Or was she really showing an uncharacteristic amount of love for an old garden gnome? By the way she so delicately cradled it as she stood back up, it was hard to believe it was an act.

“I didn’t know you liked gnomes, Wendy,” Willow said, surprise and bemusement clear in her voice.

Wendy looked up at her, her shining blue eye—the one not covered by bandages—looked more happy and alive than either of them had ever seen. Wendy gave a small nod, the corners of her mouth upturning in a nostalgic smile. “Yes. Our mother had a garden full of them. Abby and I would play games with them and talk to them all the time. They’re very friendly creatures!”

Wilson found himself grinning as well. Even after all this time, it still caught him off guard whenever Wendy acted her age, such as playing pretend with inanimate objects. His heart warmed with a burst of affection for the small girl.

Willow knelt down by Wendy to talk to her more about her knew gnome, and in the meantime, Wilson investigated the wooden box thing.

He warily picked it up, turning it to the side and peering in the space in which the lever moved. His mind ached as he tried to remember why he knew this contraption.

Then it dawned on him, hitting him like a speeding train. _He_ had built this. Or at least, a very similar one. The color of the wood threw him off—this was the lever to the door he built back at his house under Maxwell’s direction.

But what did it mean? Was it just another one of Maxwell’s tricks, giving him relics from his home to drive him to insanity through longing and confusion? Or was it a clue to getting out of here?

On a whim, Wilson turned the radio back on, bracing for the foghorn-like blare. It didn’t come. Instead, a slow, low-pitched drone not unlike the noise it made back at camp emitted from its speaker.

“There’s more,” he muttered absently.

“More useless blocks of wood?” Willow retorted, overhearing. She stood back up as Wendy busied herself with cleaning the old gnome.

“Yes—I mean, no… not useless, and not just a block of wood.”

“Oh, sorry. It’s a block of wood with a _lever,_ and it’s useful for firewood.”

“No! I mean, I think it’s a part of Maxwell’s door. I’ve built something just like this before.”

“Why would you _build_ a block of firewood?”

“Because—argh, it’s _not_ firewood! It’s a lever to activate the door. Like… like a portal or something.”

“Man, I thought these flowers were making _my_ head ache, but they must be totally screwing with yours.”

“I’m serious! I’ll prove it! We just need to follow the radio again, maybe find the rest of the pieces, and-“

“And get hopelessly lost? For what? An old rickety door?”

“I’ll go with you Wilson. Me and Mr. Stonehaven,” Wendy peeped. “Abby too.”

Willow gave a colossal moan, and her eyes rolled back in her head so far Wilson was half afraid they’d get stuck that way. It was creepy enough seeing all the animals with blank, white eyes, but seeing Willow with them—however briefly—was terribly unnerving.

“Outvoted by a stupid _gnome!_ ” she lamented. “Why is it always the cute little blond girl with the—ugh, never mind. Whatever. I don’t care. Let’s just get this over with, I don’t trust Wolfgang around the fire, even with Wickerbottom around.”

Wilson was taken aback at Willow’s sudden turn of opinion. Was she actually curious deep down, but didn’t want to admit it? Wilson found himself smiling inwardly, hoping Willow wouldn’t catch on and give him another dead arm. If she truly didn't want to go, there was absolutely no chance of her going. Yet here she was, 'allowing' herself to be dragged along.

“Alright then. Let’s see where this old thing takes us this time!"

This trip took about the same amount of time as the last, heading in a straightshot northwest line. It landed them near the shoreline, a little over an hour’s travel north of camp, according to Willow. She claimed to have the best navigational skills in the group, but while that was debatable, they could at least follow the shoreline back if need be, whether or not the hour timeline was correct.

They came across a dense clump of pine trees, all gathered in a tight circle. Through the tight branches however, something could be seen. Wilson clicked off the blaring radio, getting a sigh of relief from the others. They slipped their way through the sharp branches, breaking out into a clearing within the trees. In the middle stood a large, door-like contraption, achingly similar to the one Wilson had constructed. Other than some missing pieces, this was very obviously his door’s counterpart.

“Whoa. I guess you weren’t fibbing after all, were you?” Willow breathed, staring up at the odd contraption.

“What use would lying about that be?” Wilson replied, walking up to the door and running his hand along its rickety surface. He moved to the side where a square indent gaped hungrily. Wilson dug the lever box out of his pack, feeding it into the hole on a hunch. It fit perfectly.

A little nervous, he pulled the lever up and down a few times, but the door made no response.

“It’s still missing some key parts… but we might find them with the radio. This might be our way out!” he turned to face the others. “We could be free!”

“Yes, but before we go on any wild goose chases, I say we go back to camp and catch everyone up on what we found. Not to mention we’ve been gone a while, I’m hungry, and Wendy’s bandages probably needs to be changed,” Willow whined.

Wilson uttered a dismal sigh. He was absolutely elated by their discovery, and was loathe to leave it behind so soon after finding it. “I suppose you’re right… as long as we can keep looking later, I will comply.” He was rather tired himself, and wouldn't mind a good, stout lunch after all that walking.

“Good. Let’s get going. My feet hurt!”

They picked their way back to camp by following the shoreline. When they saw a column of smoke a little way inland, they turned toward it and followed it the rest of the way back. Willow grumbled something about how a well-kept fire should be smokeless, saying that they should never have left Wickerbottom and Wolfgang in charge of her precious flame.

There was a distinctive chill on the breeze despite the bright sun, and Wilson thought he heard an awful noise echo faintly over the island, far enough away that he couldn’t pinpoint a direction. He shivered.

As they got closer to camp, Wilson noticed that there were patches of frost here and there in the shadows of trees where the sun couldn’t reach. _Strange… I don’t remember seeing that before. Perhaps I was too distracted by the radio before to notice._ Nevertheless, a gnawing pit of suspicion grew in his stomach as they got ever closer.

They entered the clearing where camp _should_ have been. Wilson heard Willow give a small gasp as they looked upon the wreckage.

Chunks of ice lay scattered around the area, with their shelter, fire pit, bedrolls, and everything else torn to pieces and thrown asunder. Even the dirt was torn up in long, deep grooves, and huge, unidentifiable cloven footprints indented around the clearing. Worst of all, Wickerbottom and Wolfgang were nowhere in sight.

Off in the distance, Wilson swore he heard the dissonant sound of a low, booming growl.

  
  


 

 


End file.
